


Beyond the Ice & the Fire: How Fragile is the Heart

by Caroh99



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 55
Words: 450,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caroh99/pseuds/Caroh99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fleeing her Golden Cage

**Author's Note:**

> *Disclaimer:  
> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brillian work of GRRM  
> \- The title is inspired from Dante's Prayer by Loreena McKennitt.
> 
> *My eternal thanks to my great betas: gingerbeer48, swiftsnowmane, vargasse & onborrowedwings!! <3 You're the BEST :D
> 
> *The first chapter is more of a prologue, but the story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).

_Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. “Little bird,” he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps._

  She turned around to see what the Hound had ripped off and found his white cloak on the floor by the bed. Her hand went out to it, and as her fingers brushed against it lightly, Sansa realized that he wouldn’t be able to get out of the city without the cloak. And then the sharp reality of it really struck her. He was going away and had just offered to take her with him! Was she mad? What was she still doing here? If she wanted to survive, _now_ was the time. Without thinking it over Sansa scrambled out of bed and grabbed the cloak from the floor before running from her bedroom. She reached him near the end of the corridor and he turned to see her gasping a little for breath, his torn white cloak clutched tight to her.

  “Your sword might help but the white cloak may come in handier than you seem to think when _we_ get out of the Red Keep and the city gates,” she told him breathlessly, chest heaving.

  Sandor Clegane’s scarred and bloody face looked down at her, and for a moment Sansa was not sure he’d heard her. Her mind was racing. She knew that if she stayed in King’s Landing nothing good lay in store for her. If Lord Stannis won then Queen Cersei would have her head chopped off by Ser Illyn like he did with her father; and if Lord Tyrion managed to come out of the battle as the winner, then Joffrey and his beatings would be her reward for not deserting the king in the hour of peril. She had actually forgotten Ser Dontos at the moment- everything that that happened since returning to her bedroom moments before had driven him out of her mind. She was only aware that the Hound was offering her an immediate way out of all this madness, along with protection. _If there’s anyone who can help me escape, surely it’s the Hound_.

  Meanwhile, the Hound still looked down at her without saying a word, so Sansa, feared the effect of the wine was wearing off, and that he was beginning to think he had made a mistake. _Maybe he’s realizing he doesn’t want me to go with him_. Yet, she ventured most humbly, “Here, kneel down and I’ll put the cloak back on.”

  After blinking away the wetness in his eyes a couple of times he did as she said, and Sansa tied the soot and blood-stained fabric on his back, barely noticing how his armor was not only bloodied but dented and scorched as well.

  He stood up swaying slightly and grabbed her hand with his own big callused one.

  “Come with me then,” he finally said. “We have to get away from here, and now.”

  But he had not walked on three steps when Sansa said, “Wait. Can’t I… can’t I bring anything along with me?”

  The Hound chuckled and shook his head. “There’s no time for it, little bird. We must fly away now before it is too late. And besides,” he said, cocking his head slightly to one side, “What would you bring along? Dresses, books and your harp? You’ll have no need for them for a long time, I’m afraid.”

  Sansa could not help scowling up at him. “I was actually thinking of a warm cloak and my jewels. It’s not much but we might be able to sell them for something.”

  She was pleased to see the surprised expression he gave her, along with a look of admiration.

  “You’re right again, little clever bird. Go on then, but you better be quick about it.”

  Sansa turned on her heels towards her opened bedchamber and instantly made for her little golden jewelry box. Then she went to her wardrobe for the thickest fur coat she could find and made a bundle of it with the box inside. The wildfire’s light clashed with the darkness of the room once more and she saw the empty wine flagon the Hound had thrown to the floor moments before. _If they see it they might realize he was the one who helped me escape_. She grabbed it and flung it through the window.

  The Hound appeared at her door then. Apparently, the fact that she was now coming along seemed to have sobered him up a bit. As she was putting on her left riding boot, he asked, “All done?”

  She nodded, trying to keep her heart from beating so loudly. Did it beat for fear or for joy that she would never lay eyes on Joffrey again? Surely the latter. She knew somewhere deep inside her that no harm could come to her as long as the Hound was at her side- he’d told her as much just moments ago- but he had also held her at knife-point… Still, Sansa was certain they would manage to get out of the city somehow.

  “Let’s go”.

  Sandor Clegane took a tight hold of her hand once more and neither of them looked back as they fled…  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, reviews are very welcome! :)


	2. A City on Fire

  Years later Sansa Stark would recall that night as the longest one in her life. She would’ve thought she’d already gone through enough before she came upon the Hound in her bedroom that night, but in truth her ordeal had just began. Since the moment they fled her chamber, her heart was at her throat.

  Sansa kept close to the Hound as they came upon the drawbridge of Maegor’s Holdfast. It was lowered and the men who were supposed to be guarding it this night had long fled! They crossed it quickly and soon enough they were running down the serpentine steps to get to the stables belonging to the white tower where she realized that Sandor Clegane must have slept in as a member of the Kingsguard. As the Hound prepared his horse, Sansa saw that his was the only horse in the stalls. Apparently the other White Cloaks had their mounts to battle with them.

  She was still carrying her bearskin cloak under her arm. The Hound took the bundle and hid it in the saddlebag after he’d glanced over his shoulder to see if there was someone nearby. His sword was slung on the saddle within easy reach once Clegane was mounted; besides it Sansa saw his dog head’s helm was attached to the saddle as well, though its left ear seemed to have been cut off- along with a horse blanket, his shield, and inside the bag some apples were stored, along with the glitter of gold.

  “What’s that?” she asked him.

  “Food and what remains of my winnings from your father’s tourney. I’ve spent little of it as it is, so there’s still more than enough to see us through this… But little bird, listen. If we are caught before we can leave the Red Keep, just cry out that I was kidnapping you for a ransom from the Starks, understood?”

  “No! If I do that… Ser Illyn will chop off your head!”

  He laughed hoarsely. “Lions or stags, if they cathc me neither will care what reasons we give them. I’ll be doomed anyways.”

  Sansa thought that she would _not_ do as he said, but she kept silent lest he argued back.

  “Won’t you wear your helm?” she asked, wanting to talk of something that wasn’t the Lannisters chopping off more heads. “For protection?”

  He laughed. “Besides making it easier for other to recognize me even at a distance and make me their target, I don’t think it will matter much right now if I wear it or not.”

  He then climbed onto the horse and gave her a hand so that she could climb up behind him.

  “Shouldn’t I go in front?” Sansa asked.

  “Later, but for the present I’ll need space to move my sword. So make sure you grab on tight,” he rasped.

  Even before the big black destrier began to run, Sansa was already holding on, her arms gripping Sandor tightly. Muscled like a bull and so broad of shoulders and back that she could not link her arms around him completely, Sansa clung to his armor form as best she could. The iron studs on his jerkin dug into her chest, but she forgot about that quick enough. It was strange for her not to ride side saddle, and even more so to do it with a dress! But she kept quiet. 

  When they reached a postern gate of the Red Keep two scared guards stopped, saying that they could not go out by orders from the Queen Regent. Sansa remembered the servants who had tried to sneak away earlier only to be discovered and beheaded by Ser Illyn. She gulped.

  “Has the smoke burned your fucking eyes as well as your wits?” the Hound snarled at the one who’d spoken. “Can’t you see who I am, boy?”

  The guard peered at the Hound closer and at last seemed to recognize him. The other one spoke up. “We know you ser, but we were instructed not to let anyone-”

  His words were cut short as the Hound slid his throat open with his longsword. He’d drawn his sword so quickly Sansa had not known what had happened until she saw the man hit the floor. She gasped. Clegane looked at the other guard. “Don’t call me ser. And I have my instructions as well. Will you open the bloody gate now?”

  The young guard hastened to obey. Just as they were passing through the gate though, the Hound lashed out once more and killed the boy just as he’d killed his fellow guard. A small spray of blood found its way across her forehead from the man’s neck. 

  “Why did you kill him as well?” she shouted at the Hound’s back. “He opened the gate!”

  “He saw you and knew me,” he replied, as he pressed his horse on. “When the Lannisters start searching for you they’ll offer anyone who has a worthy piece of information a reward. The gnat would’ve known you’d fled with me and gone to the queen expecting some silver... never suspecting Joff would end up killing him for a traitor for letting you fly away.”

  He laughed bitterly then. _How can he laugh in moments like these?_ She was scared but saw the truth in his words. She felt as she had the day of the riot. _But he saved me then as he is saving me now. If you have to be scared don’t be scared of_ him _. He is no knight but he is your only hope_.

  They rode through a city that looked like hell, and in the middle of the madness Sansa which never made her never give up her hold on the Hound. Inside the Red Keep, the air had smelled of fire and smoke, but outside Sansa could actually see the fire; the city was ablaze, and so much smoke was making her eyes cry. Back by the Blackwater it was green, but here in the streets new fires had erupted and chaos reigned. As Sandor Clegane turned his head to the right to tell her to grab even tighter, Sansa thought she glimpsed for half a heartbeat fear in his dark eyes. _Gods! This hell must be even worse for him!_ Sansa thought, despairing. The look was gone in an instant though, replaced by his familiar scowl when she tried to hold him more closely. Sansa tried to sigh in relief, but couldn’t even manage to open her mouth.

  The world seemed to take on the colors of red, black, green and orange as men died everywhere. Several shops and houses burned away as people ran like madmen all around them. Screams sounded through the night and children could be heard calling for their mothers, while the woman wept in agony as men raped them. Sansa was terrorized by the savagery of it. Men and women alike were breaking into bakeries and warehouses to steal and plunder. She even saw some sellswords still dressed as Lannisters guards looting some silver cups and plates from a rich merchant’s house while the merchant stood by his front door, tearing at his hair.. Sansa turned away agitated, just as a handsome sellsword drove the point of his sword right through the merchant’s heart.

  The Hound avoided Flea Bottom, for which Sansa was thoroughly relieved. If things were this bad so close to the castle, then she did not want to imagine how Flea Bottom was faring. Instead he led them through small streets and alleys for a time until Sansa recognized the Guildhall of the Alchemists. _We’re close now_ , she thought. Everywhere they rode, riots were sprouting, and from far away she thought she could hear the desperate singing that was taking place in the Great Sept of Baelor, where hundreds had gathered to beseech the gods for mercy. Holding on to Sandor Clegane was the sole purpose of her being alive and sane by now. When a particularly large crowd saw them pass by, someone yelled out to seize them from their horse, but upon a second look, no one dared confront the Hound even now. He must have looked half mad himself-  only one man tried to grab the reins of the horse but the Hound rode him down. And this time Sansa did not care that the man had not been spared. She was glad of the Hound’s ferocity then. _Gods, let the others be too craven to come closer!_

  The gods saw fit to listen, for they managed to reach the Lion’s Gate without any more problems. Sansa vaguely seemed to recall that the Hound had said he would go through the Iron Gate, but the thought came and went in the blink of an eye. As the great gates loomed closer Sansa could see that the gold cloaks were unable to suppress the flood of people that were trying to escape the city, but by the time they reached them the gates had finally been flung open and she saw that most of the guards had joined in with the crowd and deserted. She could see that people were still eyeing the dark horse sourly but they let them be as they rode themselves, and left the capital finally behind. Sansa had no wish to turn around for one last look at the place in which she had once been so happy…

   Outside King’s Landing’s tall walls peasants had made their homes around small fields and the tourney grounds. Some had fled their houses by the threats of the siege, but others still remained, hoping to protect their small belongings and defend their daughters from the men pouring from the city. _They have nowhere to go, so they stay and try to bear whatever befalls them_. _They have an odd sort of courage_ , Sansa thought fleetingly as they rode through their little hovels.

  The Hound suddenly turned left and rode some distance from the city walls, towards the King’s Gate where part of the fight was taking place. The other people who had run through the Lion’s Gate were heading north, but _they_ had turned _south_! Sansa wanted to scream to the Hound that they were going the wrong way but never found her voice. Her legs and arms already ached terribly from the strain of holding on tight to the saddle and to Sandor Clegane, and the smoke in the air made it impossible for her to open her mouth without coughing. Abruptly the Hound turned east and made for the Blackwater Rush where it met the Goldroad. Just beyond the King’s Gate fire poured upwards towards the sky, in impossible towers of flame. The gate rattled and boomed under the force of a ram, while the ground shook to explosions. They weren’t close to the actual battle, but wounded soldiers had managed to run away all the way from the battle to where they were riding by. Most seem to appear suddenly out of the night, but others were staggering due to grievous wounds as they came upon them. But thankfully not one tried to take the horse this time.

  Sansa sat behind Clegane and turned her head to her left. From what she could see of The Blackwater through the smoke and cinder in the air, she thanked the gods that she had been born a girl and had not been expected to fight in that madness. Arrows and screams wrenched the air as Sansa gazed at the distant waters and what had once been the Fishmarket. There was a sort of eerie beauty to the scene, she marveled. Big green flames were erupting all around the river as big ships exploded with thunderous sounds... Yet soon enough they left King’s Landing and the madness of the struggle behind them. Sansa soon saw trees gathering in the distance and they came upon the Roseroad unexpectedly. _We’re making for the Kingswood, but why_? _Lord Stannis is there along with the Imp’s clansmen! He’s burned so much of it, this is folly. Has the Hound truly gone mad_?

  Yet they encountered no one as they entered the dark forest, foreboding under night’s shadows. The men who belonged to Stannis were not so far away from Blackwater Rush. And besides, those soldiers were concerned with looking towards the bloodshed going in front of them, not who or what may be fleeing besides them. They saw no scouts and met no trouble on the road. Tyrion Lannister’s clansmen were nowhere to be seen either. Sansa started to think that maybe she’d been too harsh on judging Clegane so. _He seems to know what he is doing, thank goodness_. Neither of them ever knew that they were lucky enough to evade Tywin Lannister’s armed force coming up from Highgarden with the Tyrell’s now supporting Joffrey.

  Dawn was still an hour away by the time they reached the point where the Roseroad left the woods and went on towards Bitterbridge and Highgarden. Suddenly though the Hound turned his horse south and abandoned the road just as it began to camper up and down hills. They had been keeping to the shelter of the trees but now they entered the Kingswood completely. As the trees enveloped them and the path was no longer clearly marked ahead of them, no signs of the onslaught could be seen this far from the Blackwater. Sansa Stark could only wonder where she had found the courage to have made it so far in such a short amount of time…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are much appreciated :)


	3. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer:  
> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brillian work of GRRM  
> \- The title is inspired from Dante's Prayer by Loreena McKennitt.
> 
> *My eternal thanks to my great betas: gingerbeer48, swiftsnowmane, vargasse & onborrowedwings!! <3 You're the BEST :D
> 
> *The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).

  They kept riding for hours in a heedless speed. Dawn came and went and still the Hound pressed Stranger, his big black stallion hard on, doubling back thrice to throw off pursuit in case there was somebody after them, and all the time Sansa was amazed at how fast the horse could ride without getting tired. The Hound seemed intent on putting as many miles between them and King’s Landing as he could...

  It was an hour past midday when Sandor Clegane finally decided it was safe to rest for a moment. Sansa had never felt as relieved by anything as she did the moment he said they ought to rest and the horse stopped.

  The Hound halted his horse in the middle of a clearing with a little stream running merrily by one side. He swung down from his saddle and then grabbed her waist. As he helped her down from Stranger, Sansa found herself leaning gratefully against Clegane’s strong steady arms. The moment Sansa’s feet touched the ground, her legs grew weak beneath her and her head swam dizzily. The Hound held her steady and after blinking a couple of times she managed a few steps forward, moving as one in a dream, before her knees gave way and she fell to the ground, trembling, her breath ragged, wanting to retch.

  Sansa Stark had never liked riding that much and this mad gallop from the capital had left her with a terrible pain between her legs, though her heart wasn’t pounding as hard as it had before.

  “Are you hurt, child?” Sandor Clegane asked her, concern in his rasping voice.

  Hysterical laughter rose up her gullet at the question, but Sansa choked it back down. She managed to shake her head after a moment. She was just too stunned for words; the realization that they had actually made it out of King’s Landing and were still alive was finally sinking in. _It’s done,_ Sansa thought. _I did it, I did it. I escaped, and now I’m going home!_ _I’ve escaped Joffrey and the queen and Ser Boros and Ser Meryn and all the rest of them_. _I am free of Joffrey. I will not have to kiss him, nor give him my maidenhead, nor bear him children_. _They will never hurt me again_. Her nightmare was finally over. The gods had heard her prayers after all. “I’m free,” she said to see if that would finally wake her, her voice a little hoarse since her throat was very dry.

  Clegane chuckled darkly. “Yes little bird, we’re both free now and out of that bloody hell. You’re free of Joffrey’s torment and your golden cage, but we can’t have you singing victory yet.”

  Sansa looked up at him, meaning to thank him for taking her away when she gasped. “You’re hurt!”

  She had seen Sandor Clegane’s face in broad daylight many times before, but she’d never seen it like this: there was a gash above his eye which had previously sent a wash of blood down his old burn scars, masking half his face. The blood had dried up but he had a couple of soot stains as well upon his armor. His white cloak stirred slightly in the wind, ripped and bloody. All in all, he did not make a pretty sight, though thankfully besides the cut, he didn’t seem to have been injured anywhere else. Still, his cut gave her concern.

  The Hound raised a hand and barely touched the wound. “So I am. There’s no time to deal with it now. I’ll tend it when we make camp at nightfall. But you ought to have a drink. I’m sure you’re thirsty.”

  He led her by the arm towards the stream and she held onto him grabbing tightly for support as she lowered herself beside the running water. It was clear and cold as she plunged her face in to it, and when she cupped what water she could in her hands and sipped, she was refreshed.

  “Wait, I’ve just remembered I have a cup in the saddle,” Clegane said.

  He went to fetch it and then filled it to the brim and offered it to Sansa. She took it and eagerly began to drink. It was much easier than trying to drink just with her hands!

  The Hound meanwhile walked away and Sansa blushed as she realized that he was making water against a tree. Stranger suddenly appeared near her and began to drink from the stream as well. Sansa stood up and was relieved to find that the Hound had finished his business. He reached for his wineskin in the saddle bag and took a long drink. He then wiped his mouth and offered her the skin.

  “No thank you,” she said. She did not think her belly could stand wine at present.

  “Drink it,” he rasped. “You’re still shaking. The wine will give you strength.”

  She took the wineskin and took a little sip, but it was enough to send a sort of tickling feeling down to her stomach. “Thank you,” she said again meekly, remembering her courtesies. “I… I owe you my freedom.”

  The Hound looked at her for a moment and then nodded to show her she need not say her thanks, his mouth twitching.

  “We must press on as soon as possible. They’ll be hunting for us soon enough, so we have to ride as many miles away from King’s Landing as we can. And we can’t afford to meet any of those bloody savages from the Mountains of the Moon the Imp let loose in these woods. I may hold a dozen off, but it’s not a theory I’d like to try right now. Go take a piss and then try and rest if you can while I tend Stranger. We’ll break our fast before we ride again.”

  Sansa nodded and left him pulling stones from the horse’s hooves and went in search of a place to make her water. She walked away a short distance though she kept to the stream, but it was far away to be certain she was well hidden from view. As she pulled down her smallclothes her red cloth fell to the ground as well and she gasped. She’d forgotten her moonblood was still on her! She was all sticky between her thighs and the worst thing was she had no other cloth to wear. She’d brought no clothes but the bear cloak with her and what she was wearing. She thought of washing the cloth in the stream, but decided instead to rip a part of her gown. She left the red cloth where it fallen and walked awkwardly to the stream to wash herself. She blushed as she realized that sooner or later the Hound would notice what was going on. _I hope he overlooks it. I think I just have to wait a day or two before it goes away_ … This was the last thing she wanted to happen here and now, but there was nothing to do about it. She tore a piece off hem of her gown and put it in her smallclothes.

  She hastily returned to where the Hound was brushing Stranger’s mane when she was done.

  Sandor turned around when he heard her approach. Sansa was vastly relieved he did not seem to notice anything and to see that he had cleaned his face in her absence. He looked less frightening now, though his cut was still a raw red.

  “We don’t have much food, but I’ll hunt us game when we have need of it. Eat something from the saddlebag and eat quickly. We won’t be able to stop often for you to piss, so don’t drink too much.”

  Sansa did as she was told and found in the bag a loaf of bread and an apple in the bag. The moment she gave it a bite her belly began to squirm. She took another bite hungrily. She was still a little dazed but enough clarity of her present situation was starting to take form in her head, and she realized that she was in great danger. If the Lannisters caught them, _and gods please don’t let them_ , she wasn’t sure that they’d kill _her_ , but she would certainly be punished harshly. But they might kill the Hound. He had said he had lost everything last night, and though Sansa did not know why he had said that, now that he had helped her escape his life was definitely in peril. He might be facing a death sentence for being a deserter and a traitor.

  Such thoughts scared her, so she said, “Your horse is very strange. I- I never thought any horse could ride so long without resting as yours has done. And he had two people to carry.”

  “Why do you think I called him Stranger, little bird?”

  “So you could mock the gods..?” she ventured in.

  The Hound’s sudden snort of laughter was confirmation enough that she was right. Well, she hoped the horse would be able to mock the Lannisters with his unnatural speed. “Can he keep up after what he’s just been through?”

  “I reckon he can. He is very strong.”

  “Well, couldn’t we eat as we ride? To make better time?”

  He took a moment to consider. “Yes, I guess we could. You don’t mind not resting till nightfall?”

  Sansa shook her head. “I want to go. I feel we are still too close to King’s Landing.”

  “You’re probably right there,” he agreed. “Any time you hear hooves, get your head down fast, it’s not like to be a friend.”

  He put away the brush and helped her to the horse after he had filled the waterskin to the brim. Then he flung himself behind her, and Sansa felt for the first time just how much his mail dug into her back. It hurt a little.

  “I know it’s not too comfortable, but this way, you might doze off while we ride.  I’ll be able to make sure you don’t fall and break your pretty neck.”

  She agreed. “I think this way will be better. It was very hard to hold on with me in the back.”

  “I’m sorry if you were hurt but I needed a better control of the reins and more room to move my sword.”

  Sansa nodded understandingly. “Well, I do hope this is better.”

  She twisted in the saddle a little bit to offer him the loaf of bread and he took it before he put his heels into the horse’s flanks and urged his strong destrier on, his big arms encircling her, keeping her safe.

 --

   “Here is as good as any place we are likely to come across,” Clegane announced that night.

  Sansa blinked tiredly. Hours ago the motion of the horse had become soothing and the lack of sleep was beginning to have its effect since it took her a moment to remember where she was. They made their way through the trees for a few more paces before he stopped the horse (who’d finally grown tired) in the middle of a small grove of trees. A sluggish stream ran by less than twenty paces from the spot.

  Sandor dismounted and put his big hands around Sansa’s small waist to lift her down.

  “We’ll be safe here?” she asked as he set her on the ground.

  “Think so. We’re deep in the forest by now and the Kingswood is huge.”

 It had been near dusk when Sansa had suggested to the Hound it might be better to rest for a moment and then ride on at night, but he had said that it would be too dangerous to ride when it was dark. “The horse may break a leg and us our necks,” he told her. She then told him that if they had managed to flee King’s Landing by night then surely they wouldn’t meet their deaths in the woods just by riding, to which he’d said that last night they had mostly ran on the Roseroad, and it wasn’t that likely one’s horse would stumble on the roads, whereas in the wild untamed forest…

  But Sansa wasn’t reassured. She glanced about nervously and hugged herself. The Lannisters could appear out of the darkness at any moment, hunting for them both.

  “You’re shaking, girl,” the Hound rasped down at her. “Here.”

  He took out her thick long bear cloak from the saddlebag and gave it to her. The smoke from the fire had managed to leave ash stains all over it. When she put it on Clegane took one look at her and laughed. The cloak was way too big for her and she looked quite disheveled. She thought briefly that it wasn’t nice of him to laugh at her appearance after everything she’d gone through, but she was just so tired and she hurt all over. It even hurt too much to start crying as she recalled that her mother had given her this cloak back at Winterfell.

  He must have seen her pain then because suddenly he gently grasped her arm, helping her towards a tree and sat her against its trunk.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly when she sat down on the ground, still shivering.

  _It’s so cold_ , Sansa thought as she watched Sandor Clegane walk off towards his horse to unburden him for the night. _And I’m so tired and thirsty. But the good thing is that my legs don’t even seem to ache so much right now. I guess they went numb hours ago_ … She wanted to say a prayer to the Seven for what they’d done for her, but she had not even started when she suddenly slid sideways and fell asleep on the spot.

  She dreamed that she was going back to Winterfell. Sansa’s heart was fluttering wildly in her chest in anticipation. She was almost at the gates when she suddenly saw that her home was burned to the ground. When she walked towards it, mist gathered all around her, making it hard for her to see in front of her. She knocked desperately on the gates but no one answered her. She called for her father and mother, for her brothers and sister, and when she got no response, she shouted for Septa Mordane, Jeyne Poole or her father, Jory Cassel, Hullen and Fat Tom. She even called for Old Nan and Hodor. In the end she remembered Theon Greyjoy, her father’s ward and she called out his name as well. This time the door _did_ open, but instead of Theon, Joffrey appeared holding all her family’s heads by the hair. Sansa started screaming but then a strong hand grabbed her shoulder reassuringly. She whirled around to find Sandor Clegane in front of her. “Little bird,” he rasped before Joffrey shouted at the man who’d been his sworn shield all his life, “ _Traitor!_ _I’ll have your head off after I’m finished with her!_ ”

  “That you won’t, gnat” Sandor responded, and then laughed at him.

  Sansa woke up as his bark of laughter filled her ears and the dream mist covered them all as well. She was bundled up in the bear cloak, her face resting against dirt and dried leaves. She was breathing a little fast, and as soon as her eyes opened pain started to bother her in every part of her body. She remembered the dream and raised her head a little bit to see where the Hound was. He was sitting by a small fire, the dog-shaped helm on the ground near him. She could see that he hadn’t taken off his armor, nor but, his sword belt or the white cloak that was still attached to his shoulders to keep him from the cold as best it could. His big dark horse was grazing nearby, and the saddlebag along with his armor lay by an oak’s trunk.

  The Hound snarled a curse. He seemed to be trying to clean the cut above his eye, Sansa saw. She also noticed that his sword lay on the ground nearby, and by the look of it, he had cleaned it while she slept for no more blood smears could be seen on it.

  Sansa stood up and shivered. The night was very cold so she secured her coat more tightly about her. Only then did Sandor Clegane appear to have heard her. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her standing there, staring at his back. The fire made his scars shine quite horridly in the light.

  “How long was I asleep?” Sansa asked him.

  “I reckon less than two hours. You should go back to it, little bird.”

  “In a moment… You made a fire,” she said, walking towards it. It felt good against her face. “Won’t it give us away?”

  The Hound looked up at her. “There’s no way either the Lannisters or Stannis would see it even if they are looking for either of us tonight in the woods. If we are anywhere near where I think we are, then we’ll be all right tonight.”

  “But what if another person finds-”

  “Finds us? Well, I guess if he is only one man I wouldn’t have any trouble finishing him off, would I?”

  Sansa nodded, trying to ease her fears.

  “If you’re hungry or thirsty the food is in the saddlebag, girl.”

  She went for the waterskin, noticing how very menacing the woods appeared at night. It was far too dark beneath the trees for her taste.

Sansa was vastly thankful for the refuge of their little fire and the Hound’s presence. _Else how could I ever expect to survive here on my own_? _I don’t know how to hunt or start a fire or anything regarding forests except hawking, and that only a little_. Still, why were they in the Kingswood and not running north?

  When she took a long drink she saw that the wineskin was by the Hound’s feet. It looked empty. _I hope he doesn’t get as drunk as he was during the battle_ , Sansa prayed fervently, as she watched him soak a cloth inside his helm. He tried to clean his cut but wasn’t doing a very good job of it since he cursed again and rubbed at his eye fervently.

  Suddenly Sansa knew she ought to help him. She was terrified of looking at his face for a long time, but the thought of it seemed silly to her now after what they had just lived through together. _I owe him for saving me. I gave him my thanks but I must do this to show him I really appreciate what he did for me._ She recalled the night less than a week ago when she had tried to thank him for saving her from the mob. But he had responded to her thanks with mocking hurtful words. _He saw through my words but maybe if I do something to_ show _him my thanks it’ll be different. And he may hate knights and fair maids, but still,_ I _ought to be a lady and tend to his wounds_.

  Sansa walked back towards the Hound, forgetting her own aches, and offered timidly, “I… I could do that for you.”

  Sandor Clegane quickly met her eyes. His face frightened her then, but she reminded herself not to look away. He laughed then; a laugh as cold and hollow as if it had come from the bottom of a deep well. “The little bird wants to help, does she? Well, spare me your help. I know you can’t bear to look at me,” he growled after he had finished laughing.

  His words and his laughter made her angry. _He is always so hateful_! She wanted to be nice to him and yet he turned her intentions into foolish things with short blunt words. Sansa was quite tempted to storm back to the spot where she’d been sleeping, but instead she smoothed her skirts out of habit and knelt by the Hound’s side. Then she took the cloth he’d been using from his unresisting grasp. She saw that it was a torn piece from his white cloak, and suddenly remembered how she’d ripped a part of _her_ gown that morning to keep her moonblood at bay. The memory made her blush, but she hoped the fire hid the color in her cheeks. _I’ll have to tear it again on the morning and go hide somewhere to wash myself_.

  That would have to wait though. She had never done this before, but she thought it wouldn’t be that hard. “Do I just dip it in the wine and start cleaning it?” she asked him, uncertainly.

  She looked at him and saw something in his eyes she had never seen there. It did not frighten her, but it did made her heart beat a little fast on her breast. His expression was also queer or well, she could only call it- incredulous. _I must not look at his burns_ , she told herself. _If I do and then turn away he’ll become all nasty again_.

  “The wine has gone cold by now,” was his response, before he put his helm in the flames. “Wait a few moments.”

  She nodded as he took a swallow from him skin. Then he rasped, “The bloody wine will be gone soon.”

  _Thank the gods_ , she thought, though she kept her silence. She did not know how the Hound would like her thoughts on it; he liked his wine far _too_ much and sounded very sad about the prospect of finishing the only skin he’d brought with him.

  Meanwhile the wine in his helm was soon hot enough for her to begin. He took the helm from the flames cautiously and put it beside them. Dipping the torn cloth into the warm wine, Sansa began to clean his cut gently, leaning close to Sandor Clegane, trying to keep her eyes on the cut above his eyebrow and not the rest of his face. The cut itself was not very bad, but whenever she touched it he would wince ever so slightly. She dabbed at it as delicately as she could in silence, and realized that by the fifth time she began to clean his small wound she was looking at the other parts of his face, and the Hound could see that as well, Sansa saw when she caught his eyes. His grey eyes locked hers but, startled as she was, she did not look away. She had looked at his face on the rooftop of the tower where she slept when she had thanked him for rescuing her, and had found out that his eyes were the most terrible thing about him; they were so full of anger. And though perhaps it was even darker than that night, the light the fire cast helped her see all that she had missed then. _I am not a silly little girl anymore. I am a woman flowered and I can’t keep looking away every time I am this close to his face_. Even when he had come to her chambers to take her away, she’d been frightened of his drunken manner, not his scars. And then she remembered that strange surreal moment they had shared, where she cupped his face and felt his scars and tears, moments after he had threatened her with his dagger; moments after she was sure he was going to kiss her….

  His face was gaunt, his cheekbones sharp and he had a heavy brow. He had long thin black hair which he always brushed sideways to cover his burns- though at present it was quite disheveled. She quickly saw the hole where his right ear should’ve been, and the twisted mass of scars as well, but tried to focus only on the good side of his face, trying to imagine how he would’ve looked if his face was scarless. _I guess he wouldn’t be_ that _bad looking_ , she concluded. _He is no Knight of Flowers, but he is no worse than most on his good side_. His beard scratched her a little whenever her hand brushed accidently against it as she tended his cut, and he still smelled of blood and sweat and wine (he had washed his mouth on the morning, so thankfully the smell of stale vomit was gone), but Sansa guessed that she wouldn’t be smelling nice too herself soon enough.

  As if from another life unbidden, the memory of the tourney held in her father’s honor came to her vividly. _How foolish I was_ , she thought as she recalled how enraptured she’d been with Joffrey and how blind to what was in store for her. But if she remembered that night, it was Joffrey or the mêlées that she dwelt on. It was to think back on the moment when Sandor Clegane had told her his story about his burns as he escorted her back to her chambers by Joffrey’s command. _He knew how vain Joffrey was and tried to warn me, but I could not see it. And he wanted me to see how false knights can be_.  She still held the notion that not all knights were bad, but she thought back on how the Hound had commanded her to look at his face then. He had scared her, but she’d done it and in the end she had tried to comfort him. _That’s the first time he called me little bird_ , Sansa remembered. _His face frightened me so very much, and still does, but he became a sort of friend to me since then, so I think I ought to learn to see beyond his scars_. _That’s what a lady would do_ …

  “Back in my chambers you said that you had lost all… what did you mean by that? Was it the Imp’s fault?” she asked him quietly.

  She had been wondering about that a lot as they rode through the Kingswood, along with some other important questions she was meaning to ask him. But this was the one she felt should be asked first. And something in her told her that the Hound _would_ answer her, and most importantly, answer her with the truth.

  The Hound snorted. “That twisted little gargoyle. Men will say that I turned craven now thanks to him. They’ll say I’ve lost my belly for fighting…”

  Clegane told her all that had happened to him during the battle. She learned how Tyrion Lannister had decided to separate Joffrey from his sworn shield and send the Hound off to lead sorties with Ser Balon Swann outside the King’s Gate.

  “There was fire and screams everywhere, and yet I went on board one of Stannis’s ships and started hacking men down,” he told her, and Sansa knew he was not lying because she remembered when one of the Kettleblacks had informed Queen Cersei that the Hound was cutting men to pieces back at the Queen’s Ballroom. “I wasn’t afraid of the dying but so much fire… and wildfire is even deadlier. I couldn’t bear it, it was everywhere, the heat and the wine didn’t help either... In the end I was out in the thick of things three times though my men kept dying all around me, while their horses screamed and reared as they burned alive. And then the fucking Imp appeared unscathed and ordered me to go into the fire again. But it was one bloody time too many. I told him to bugger off but he would not listen. Stannis’s men were breaking through the gates and he wanted me to go and sort them out, but instead I told him to open the King’s Gate and kill all who rushed in. It was as good advice as any I could give that little shit, but he decided not to listen to me and instead he took what remained of my men and went out to meet the foe himself. Most of the fools followed him… Well, piss on them all. I’m going someplace that isn’t burning. I just hope that the bloody dwarf got what he deserved and ended in some hell’s fires.”

  The rough rasp of his voice trailed off and silence fell between them. Whenever he spoke of the Imp Sansa saw that his voice was full of anger, but it had been worse when he spoke of the wildfire. She could not find it in her to blame him for not following orders at a moment as the one he’d just described, but she did realize that by disobeying Tyrion Lannister and then fleeing the city, the Hound had lost his position at court and maybe even at the Kingsguard, and that was without counting the fact that he helped her escape King’s Landing. Ser Barristan Selmy was taken from the Kingsguard for being too old to protect King Robert. Surely Joff would’ve dismissed his sworn shield as easily once he heard that he had ran away from the battle, regardless of how much esteem he had for Sandor Clegane.  He was as good as dead in King’s Landing now.

  Sansa had stopped cleaning the Hound’s cut at some point and now her hands lay folded on her lap. She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder gently. “I understand,” she said warmly, and in her voice there was no trace of pity or judgment. “I know you only feared the fire, not death... You can hardly blame yourself for that.”

  At that he snorted in contempt. “Who said I blamed myself? I don’t regret leaving the thrice-damned Lannisters. I’m sick of them.”

  “I… I only meant-”

  “I know what you meant, little bird,” he snarled, his mouth twitching.

  “You’re better than any of them… It was brave of you to take me away from the city,” she told him, forgetting that she had called him brave not a week ago and he had laughed at that. She knew now deep inside that Sandor Clegane was a good man and wouldn’t hurt her.

  His eyes bored into hers.

  “It was the right thing to do,” he finally muttered.

  Sansa knew not what to say to that, so she said nothing. The Hound seemed to have sunken into a brooding silence then, so she was free to think on whether she should speak the question she was dying to ask- but as she thought how she ought to put it, somehow Sansa knew that this wasn’t the right time. She would have to wait to know where they were going until tomorrow.

  “My cut is as clean as it is likely to get tonight. Thanks little bird, you did well. Better if we get some rest now.”

  “You… you have to bind the cut and change it every day,” she reminded him.

  Sansa thought he had not heard her, for he made no answer. But then he chuckled, stood up and actually offered her his hand. She looked a little startled at it, but after blinking twice she took it and he helped her to her feet. The Hound went off to tie his horse up to a tree while Sansa grabbed his dog-shaped helm and went to throw the wine in it over some bushes; it was very heavy. Sandor Clegane took a long pull at what was left of his wineskin and Sansa said, “Don’t you have anything but the white cloak to keep you warm?”

  The Hound looked mournfully at his empty skin and said, “Bugger the warm. I’ve spent colder nights outdoors before. We have a bloody fire, and though my mail isn’t comfortable to sleep in, it _does_ keep off some chill.”

  He went to relieve himself against a tree then so Sansa looked away. _Why can’t he go off and do it somewhere where I’m not close? He’s so rude!_ She did her best in pretending as if nothing was amiss as she sought for the snuggest bit of dirt around their fire to sleep in. _I’m going to be so dirty before this is all over_ , she thought resignedly.

  She finally found her sleeping ground and knelt by it while the Hound brought up the saddlebag. “Get up, child. I have a bedroll in the saddle. You can sleep in it and you can use your hood as a pillow as best you can, but I’ll try with the saddle.”

  He went over to Stranger who was already wrapped up in his own blanket, Sansa saw, and laid the bedroll by the fire and then sat down on the dirt after feeding some little thin sticks to the flames. Sansa muttered her thanks for the bedroll and lay herself on it, suddenly realizing that she was about to sleep alone in the woods with Sandor Clegane! A sudden fear clutched at her and her heart began to beat a little fast. _What if he tries to do something to me?_ For a moment she thought him capable of it until she remembered not only how he would not let harm come to her, but also how she’d just been asleep for two hours with him and he didn’t seem to have even spared her a second thought. When she eased her mind on that matter Sansa now dreaded to even close her eyes in fear of what would happen when she opened them again. _Will I awake to find him gone and I’ll be all alone?_ But while she’d seen he was capable of, that didn’t seem so likely to happen. _Still_ , _even if he stays, the Lannisters may find us while we sleep. Or some wild beast could also decide it wants us for its dinner…_ She looked at the Hound. “You won’t let anything bad happen to us, will you?” she whispered at him.

  Sansa could only see his eyes shining white from where he lay. A hoarse chuckle escaped him. “Stop being so afraid, girl. You trusted yourself into my care. I’ve managed to keep us safe so far, haven’t I? Give me some credit…”

  _He’s right_ , she thought, as an owl hooted in the distance. She patted the bedroll realizing how big it was. The Hound was a very big man so this bedroll may fit him just fine, but it was way too big for Sansa. She ought to sleep comfortably in it. And then, just as suddenly as the first time not that long ago, sleep took a quick hold of her. “Night,” she whispered, and faintly heard him reply, “Sweet dreams, little bird…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your lovley reviews from the previous chapters <3 They were wonderful and help keep one's faith in the story up :) so please keep on sharing what you think so far of this fic! :)


	4. You Won't Hurt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer:  
> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brillian work of GRRM  
> *My eternal thanks to my great betas: gingerbeer48, swiftsnowmane, vargasse & onborrowedwings!! <3 You're the BEST :D  
> *The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on. 
> 
> A/N: I am not so sure about the timeline regarding Theon taking Winterfell & “killing” Bran & Rickon, but for this story it happened just before the Battle of the Blackwater and so the news reached King’s Landing by the time the battle was going to begin. Hope this little change doesn’t matter too much 

  It was the middle of the afternoon and Sandor Clegane was skinning a hare he’d caught for their supper with his dagger- _the same dagger he used to threaten to kill me with_ , Sansa thought. She had seen the sight many times before, but it still made her belly queasy to see the poor animal being stripped of its skin.

  Now that they were well inside the Kingswood he had finally taken his dented armor off, and it lay discarded near him since he had been cleaning the blood and soot off it since morning. Sansa could only wonder at how he had managed to catch some sleep with all that heavy weight on. He had left his boiled leather and mail shirt on, but even so, he could move faster and with greater agility now.

  “Perhaps I should’ve worn the bleeding Kingsguard armor instead,” he’d said as he took off his breastplate.

  “You didn’t like to wear it that much, did you?”

  “It was all a bloody joke, so no, I didn’t like it, little bird. Bad enough that I had to wear the cloak.”

  “Then why is it bad that you didn’t bring it along? It would’ve been even easier to recognize you in it,” she said.

  “It would’ve been worth more when the time came to sell it,” he’d replied.

  But now the Hound was seated beside a log when Sansa returned to their campsite. Today they had settled for a clearing and Sansa had nodded her approval as she thought that she would be able to see the stars in the sky tonight. She had gone off to fetch sticks and dry leaves for the fire, but in truth she had wanted to go to the little pond she’d seen just before they came upon the clearing so she could clean her moon blood. If her sums were right, and that was a little dubious since sums were not her strength, then today would be the last day she had her moon blood- until next month that is.

  She saw Stranger grazing nearby as she said, “Here, these are all the sticks and dry leaves I could bring with me.”

  Clegane looked at the bunch of wood she’d brought and grunted his approval. “I caught us dinner. You like the taste of roast hare little bird, do you? We have nothing to season it with, but it doesn’t taste _that_ bad.”

  Sansa sat in front of him in the earth without a spare thought to her embroidered silks and gave a deep sigh to show she’d heard him. By now her gown was quite ruined so she didn’t see the point of trying to spare it more earth stains. _I must be so dirty_ , she thought gloomily, hugging her legs. She had washed her hands and face in the pond, but her beautiful auburn curls were starting to get tangled and her riding boots were caked with mud. The hem of her dress was all mismatched where she’d torn it and she had had to take off the necklace she’d been wearing after she had realized she had lost one of her earrings. Once she would never had allowed herself to get in such a state, but she was not a silly little girl anymore, but a young woman on the run for her life and things like bathing and looking pretty could not be a part of her days for the present. Even if she’d wanted to, the kingswood would not have allowed it. _I wonder what would Arya say if she saw me now_..?

  The thought of her sister gave her the courage she had needed. She gulped and the Hound looked at her once more at the sound and Sansa finally asked him what she was most anxious to know. “What will we do now?”

  For a moment she was afraid he would not answer her, but then he said, “I’ve been thinking about it, little bird… We ought to decide where to head forth now. The Kingswood is no fit place for the likes of you to live in.”

  “I thought we only had the one choice,” she said. “My mother and brother are in Riverrun. We ought to head there. We could’ve gone to Winterfell before, but now that Theon Greyjoy has killed Bran and Rickon and the ironmen hold the north, I suppose there isn’t much sense in going there.”

  He agreed. “You’re right, we won’t be going to Winterfell.”

  Still, Sansa had some doubts. “When we fled, why didn’t we make north for the Trident or even the West?”

  The Hound had finished skinning their dinner. He stood up and began to pile the sticks she’d gathered for a fire. “At the time I acted on istinct. I was planning on riding north- everyone was- but as we left the city I suddenly thought of the Kingswood. It’s big enough for us to get lost in it and there’s better opportunities to hide from the scouts they’ll send after you. Outlaws have managed to elude capture for decades. You’ve heard of the Kingswood Brotherhood, haven’t you? They will never think we’re hiding here…”

  Sansa knew he was right and had her best interest at heart, but she wanted to see her mother again so badly that it hurt. If it had been up to her she would’ve run every mile from the Red Keep to Riverrun to be with her. But she supposed that now she had heard the Hound’s reasons, his decision was better. Sansa still wished though that there was a way she could see her mother and brother again sooner.

  “We can’t stay here forever though,” she pointed out. She wove her fingers together under her chin.

  “I know… We have a few options. But look, there is no way in seven hells I’ll be taking you to Riverrun through the Riverlands,” he suddenly informed her bluntly. “So bugger that, little bird.”

  Sansa blinked at him in surprise. He had spat the last words with something like contempt and in a tone that brooked no argument. She stared at him and frowned. “Why not?”

  The Hound chuckled, a sour sound, part rumble, part a snarl. “Have you ever heard of the Bloody Mummers, girl? Or better still, _Ser_ Amory Lorch? You know all the bloody knights in the Seven Kingdoms, but have you heard of Lorch or Vargo Hoat and his _Brave_ Companions..?”

  Sansa thought quickly but could not recognize any of the names. “Who are they?”

  He chuckled once more, but now bitterly. “Lorch is believed to be the one to have killed Rhaegar’s little girl and the Brave Companions otherwise known as the Bloody Mummers are the same bloody company. Vargo Hoat is their leader, but he is my brother’s pet. They are supposedly sellswords, but in truth they’re just scum. Outlaws and criminals from all over the world…”

  Sansa was still lost. “But what have they got to do with us?”

  “Tywin Lannister has let them loose around the Riverlands. I was there every time Joffrey got reports of all the holdfasts and villages and farmlands they had burned and sacked. They’re not just scum. They do more than just burn or rape or steal. I don’t want you to know what sets them apart from other sellswords, but trust me little bird, it is not a pretty tale. If we encountered them I might be able to cut down some, but in the end, I reckon you wouldn’t be a maiden for long… The riverlands are in chaos, filled with battles, armies, murderers, rapists and wolves. So now you know why we can’t reach your kingly brother by land. Nor your grandfather or the Blackfish for that matter.”

  His voice trailed off and Sansa shuddered. She could find nothing to say to his words, but as her heart sank within her, her mind began to search for another way to reach Riverrun. She knew that nothing she could say would convince him to take her there by the Kingsroad and the lands of the Trident.

  “Well, if not by land couldn’t we reach it by sea?”

  Sandor Clegane’s eyes bore into her, but she did not look away. For once his scars did not attract her attention. “Yes the sea would be my choice too, yet to where would we head? We can’t go down by the Stepstones and the Arbor to reach Riverun by the west because we’d be too close to Lannisport. Who’s to say we won’t be recognized and sold to the Lannisters still at the Rock? Aye, your brother is in the west so we have a fair chance of being sold to him instead, but those waters belong to the iron squibs. I don’t suppose you’d like to become a salt wife, would you? They are bound to take any ship sailing near their buggering isles.”

  Sansa had grown up with Theon Greyjoy, her father’s ward. She had liked him well enough. He was quick to laughter and had always been good to her. That was before he murdered her little brothers though…

  She had no idea what a salt wife was, but by the Hound’s mocking tone she could only suppose it was not a good thing. And of course, after what Theon had done to Winterfell and her little brothers, she did not wish to be captured by any ironmen.

  “So the fucking ironborn hiding in half the castles cut us off from the North and the sea to the west,” Clegane continued grudgingly. “There’s another way though. You have an aunt in the Vale, don’t you?”

  “Yes, my lady mother’s sister, Lysa Arryn…” It had been years since she last saw her aunt. “I met her when I was little but I don’t remember her very well.”

  “Well, I do. She lived in the Red Keep until her benevolent husband died and Robert took us North in search of your father. I never once talked to her bur Joffrey would often play tricks on that sickly boy of hers.”

  Sansa didn’t want to hear how Joffrey had been mean to yet another member of her family. “I’m sure she would be kind to me for my mother’s sake. She’s my own blood.”

  Sandor Clegane snorted. “Most of the time it is your own blood that’s the cruelest to you.”

  Sansa didn’t agree much with that view, since she could never imagine any Stark treating her cruelly. But she said nothing since she knew that the Hound hadn’t been thinking of her family when he said that. He was thinking of his brother.

  “Your aunt seemed to me a bit touched to tell you the truth, but still, it might be the safest route we have. The Vale has not yet entered the war but it is still not without troubles. It’d be a harrowing journey. You remember the bloody Imp’s clansmen? Well, we’d be avoiding them since we’d arrived by sea. We have the coin but once we are in Gulltown we might find a way to reach her before someone recognizes us. There’s bound to be trading there even though it lies near Dragonstone. If Stannis lost he’ll retreat back to it for a time and won’t bother with the seas passages. And if he wins then his main force won’t even be near us.”

  Sansa liked this notion better than the previous one, but there was something at the back of her mind which she could not quite name which bothered her where her aunt was concerned.

  “But what if she doesn’t believe I am her niece or we can’t reach her?”

  He had no immediate answer to that. Silence fell between them as he looked for a way out of the problem she’d presented; while she tried to place the foreboding feeling she had regarding the Vale.

  “Might be safer to try and head for Widow’s Watch or White Harbor or even your father’s bastard up at the Wall,” Sandor Clegane finally replied.

  Sansa gasped. _Jon_! How could she have forgotten him? Yes, seeing him again would be so wonderful… “Yes, we could go to the Wall, though I don’t know if Jon would be at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea or at Castle Black… If he is at the latter we would have to trust the Night’s Watch at Eastwatch to shelter us till a bird reached Jon.”

  “The Night’s Watch takes no sides, girl. If it were our last choice I would dare it, but don’t you remember that the Imp sent Janos Slynt to the Wall? He may have taken the black but if he sees or hears about us being there, he’d inform King’s Landing as soon as possible to get a pardon and return south…”

  Sansa did want to see her half-brother, but the mention of Janos Slynt made her wary. She hated the man ever since he’d shown her father’s head to the crowd on that dreadful day when all her world had shattered, and she had even gotten a painful beating thanks to him when she had in front of Joffrey that she hoped the Others would take Lord Slynt.

  “The Manderleys are the closest of your father’s banner men that we could reach in the North and the best choice we have, as I see it. We’d need to be even more careful there because it is a large porl city and word would spread if even one person recognized us.”

  “But surely Lord Manderley would keep us hidden?”

  “He might if we reach him with our skins intact, but both guards and servants would see us and they’d gossip and word would spread. _I_ am the one who is easily recognized. But I won’t leave you with your brother’s fat bannerman alone. I won’t abandon you the first moment I can… So to outwit the lions we shall wait in White Harbor till we find a way to reach Riverrun. The ironborn hold Moat Cailin but if we send word to your brother a mighty host might be able to reach us unharmed. The bog devils are supposedly on the Young Wolf’s side so they could help him clean Moat Cailin from the ironmen.”

  Sansa did not quite understand all the war strategies he explained to her, and even if she’d had a mind for it she wouldn’t have been able to. Was distracted by the fact that she had just remembered what made her rule out the Vale from their possibilities. She had never heard the Hound talk this way before. It was a little strange to hear him discuss strategy in such depth (since no one ever did that with her) but at the same time it was reassuring to know that he knew how to stay alive, and that he would not abandon her to her fate…

  “We will have to go to White Harbor. I’ve just remembered that Lord Baelish has gone to the Vale to try and marry my aunt,” Sansa informed him.

  The Hound looked at her with wide eyes and swore under his breath. “Fuck, I’d forgotten about Littlefinger! But you’re right little bird… It’ll have to be White Harbor then. Even if your aunt doesn’t accept him, he’s still a member of the bloody council and if he sees us in the Vale he’ll come back running to King’s Landing to confirm the tale the raven he’d send had brought…”

  It was dusk now and the sky was darkening quickly. The Hound had abandoned the thought of making the fire long ago, but now he bent upon the task once again. Sansa shivered as a cold wind swept by and she stood up and went slowly to fetch her fur cloak from the saddle. She felt very weary and thought that maybe she ought not to have asked yet what they ought to do next. So many people wanted her either dead or captured for a ransom that she felt desolate. It was plain enough now that she wouldn’t be seeing her mother or Robb any time soon. She might have escaped the Lannisters but her troubles were far from over. _I’d rather be at White Harbor than with Joffrey any time though_ , she thought, but it wasn’t the Manderley’s seat she longed for. She needed Winterfell and her mother’s arms and Robb’s smiles. She needed her father’s kind words and Arya’s defiant scowl. She needed Bran’s laughter and little Rickon’s hugs. And most of all she needed Lady… But they were all gone now, and the only two that remained were out of her reach for the moment. It was just too much for Sansa. It hurt her to remember all she had lost. Tears filled her eyes as the Hound finally managed to start a fire after a low curse.

 

  Sandor Clegane heard a sob and turned around to find the little bird hugging herself and starting to cry. _Fuck_. He was rooted to the spot where he stood and yet he wanted to go over and comfort her. _Bloody hell, why is she crying now_? He had never met anyone who could cry as much as Sansa Stark, and yet he could not blame her. _She’s been through enough ever since Joff decided to kill her father_. Sandor had never care a rat’s arse about Eddard Stark, but after he was beheaded there were many times when he found himself cursing the man for being honorable and getting himself killed and leaving his eldest daughter at the mercy of lions…

  Sure, in the end the man had lied and died to save the little bird’s precious life, but she had still suffered unjustly for her family’s comings and goings, and though he had cursed her kin he had also cursed himself for standing there and letting her be beaten and exposed without being able to do anything.

  And now that they were both free he still just stood there and watched as she cried. _What’s wrong now? Is she crying because she has only me with her?_ Sandor wondered… _And yet, she comforted me the night of the battle though I did my best to scare the life out of her. I behaved worse than a dog to her and she still chose to come with me._ He’d been practically broken and vulnerable when he went to her rooms, and even more so after she had closed her eyes when he offered to take her away from the city. Her initial refusal, along with the wine and the madness of the battle, had made him forget himself. She’s been the only person to treat him as something more than just a Lannister dog, and to see her shy away from him in fear when he practically stated that he needed her… neither of them understood just what it had been he needed, but whatever it was he hadn’t even known how to ask for it right. He had put his blade at her throat, and not for the first time he was loathe to remind himself, when he’d realized that he had pinned her to the bed and had even been tempted for a moment to take things further. But he hadn’t, for which he was thoroughly relieved. _If I ever do that to her, I will lose not only her but also myself._ _I’m not Gregor_... He had wanted to rescue her from the Lannisters yes, but he had also wanted to go away with her by his side. It didn’t matter if it probably wouldn’t last long. That didn’t change the fact that he had wanted her to choose to come with him... and she had. It wasn’t like he owned her nor did he fool himself that the little bird wanted him. But for the present, somehow, she had ended up here with him…

  Still, he had other things to consider. Sandor had cried when he realized that she was singing a prayer to the bloody Mother in fear of him. He had seen himself through her eyes then and just what a monster he was being to her. He had never felt more disgusted with himself or felt more like the vile dog everyone believed he wass, but the little bird had somehow put her fear aside and comforted him. _Aye, by touching the side of my face with the burns_ … Even last night she had offered to clean his cut and had finally _looked_ at his face without fear. That was what had broken him most, though not in a bad way. Sandor had never known such emotional nor intimate moments before in all his life. For as long as it took her to clean his cut as far as Sandor knew the world had stood still. He had wondered for the hundredth time what it would be like to kiss her; he had wondered how soft her cheeks would feel if he stroked them; how good it would feel to slide his hands through her hair; or how she would start moaning prettily if he ran his hands up her thighs… He had been trying for years to fool the world and himself that he had no compassion or kindness in him, nor any need for love. It was only to be expected after growing up in the manner in which to show a trace of humanity was considered a weakness. The little bird had robbed him of the standards he’d always lived up to with those two actions… He was bound to want to guard her forever now, he suspected. _I owe her for that_. _I have to make it up to her. I must go to her now_. But it wasn’t really with a sense of repayment that he strode over to Sansa, but because he had felt bound to her ever since the night he had told her the truth about his face.

  He grabbed the little bird firmly by the chin and raised her pretty little face up. He felt his habitual frown soften in spite of himself as he watched her blue eyes fill with tears and open wide as pigeon’s eggs. And her mouth was opened in a little O making him want to kiss her with his own scarred one. Instead he forced himself to say, “Look at me and tell me what’s the matter, little bird.”

  He saw her gulp and felt her hesitation. But in the end she said, “It’s… it’s just that I miss my mother.”

  _Of course, and instead of her you only have me_. He had tried to explain to her the reasons why they couldn’t go to Riverrun right away as best he could, but he knew that those things were not what she would’ve wanted to hear. Well, bugger her mother. The woman was at Riverrun worrying about her son instead of how to get the little bird back. Sandor Clegane let go of her chin and hugged her.

  It was more like a crush at first which startled her, but Sandor embraced her strongly and after a moment she actually rested her head in his chest and cried a little harder. _She is so tiny_ , he thought with wonder.

  The little bird had changed of late from the silly little fool he’d first laid eyes on in Winterfell. Her body was turning into that of a young woman and she was starting to get taller. But compared to him she was still very small.

  Sandor rested one hand on her back and placed the other one on the back of her head. He made reassuring noises, and before long he learned why she was so sad.

  “And I also miss my brothers and sister,” she cried into his chest. “I know that I will never see Bran or Rickon again, but it still hurts. And father! I should’ve been a better daughter to him. The last time I spoke to him before he got arrested, I screamed at him. But how could I have known that things would turn out the way they did? Oh, I miss Arya and Lady..! I didn’t spend as much time with either of them as I should have. It’s not that I’m not grateful for your help, but it still hurts ever so much that I can’t see mother or Robb who are still alive any time soon!” She _looked_ up at his face then. “I know I said my parents and Robb were traitors, but _you_ knew I didn’t mean it. I only said it to avoid Joff’s anger. I love them so much…”

  “Of course I knew, little bird.” 

  Even though she was crying and he was comforting her Sandor couldn’t help but notice how her breasts were crushed against him. The sensation that aroused in him made him stifle a grunt with difficulty. _Gods, I need wine!_

  He never knew how long he held her close to him. At first it was strange, he had never done anything like this before, but he got used to the feeling of holding her quick enough. It was the easiest thing in the world to hold her tight against him. And yet it made him bitter to think of how innocent the little bird had once been and how she had lost some of it by her experiences. _Like I did once._

 

  Sansa finally stopped crying. She had sobbed all her tears over the fact that she wasn’t going to Riverrun for the present. _At least we’ll be far away from the Lannisters now, and we can send word to Robb somehow of where I am so they don’t worry about me once they learn that I’ve escaped_. _I’ll get to Riverrun eventually. I just have to be patient and wait a little while longer_. She could see that the Hound was doing everything he could to keep her safe. _The Hound_! She broke out of her grieving reverie as she realized to whom she just had cried her heart out to. As she cried Sansa hadn’t really thought about it, but now that she was better she looked up at Sandor Clegane’s face. He would be the most unlikely person imaginable for most people to seek comfort from, and yet he had behaved splendidly with her, and it had felt so good to be comforted. _And he didn’t bark at me for crying either_. Her last friend had been Jeyne Pool and the last hours they had spent together Sansa had comforted Jeyne, instead of the other way around. After Jeyne she had had to control her true emotions in case she woke Joffrey’s anger. Yet now that she was free she didn’t have to worry about that. _The Hound may think me a silly little bird but he didn’t ignore my grief or look uncomfortable or tell me to stop it._ _He is being nice, like a true friend_. _He isn’t as terrible as everyone thinks he is or he would never have done everything he’s done for me_. _He has my best interests at heart_. _He even went to my rooms and waited for me, risking getting caught just so he could take me away from the city… so he could_ save _me._

  Even now, he still held her even though she wasn’t crying. It was too dark for her to see all the details of his burned face, yet she could see his eyes, and this time they didn’t look angry or drunken or sullen. Suddenly she was reminded of the moment back in her rooms when she thought he was going to kiss her. He hadn’t, and it all had suddenly gone wrong when she closed her eyes then. The moment was so strange that she could feel herself blushing. Sansa wasn’t aware what to do or say next. She only knew for a certainty that she shouldn’t close her eyes or look away.

  She watched him with a new sort of fascination, and in that moment Sansa stopped being afraid of the Hound. Since fleeing he had changed a little and was not as horrid as he used to. _Maybe he’s been like this all the time but I had not noticed it till now_. _And maybe I’ve changed as well._ Why, she hadn’t ever thought of him as a protector until the day he saved her from the mob, even though she could see now that he had always tried his best to give her good advice and spare her from being beaten by backing up her lies! Still, if there was one thing she had learned in her time in King’s Landing it was mistrust. It was hard for Sansa to allow herself to trust someone again after the way the Lannisters had repaid her love and trust. She had dared hope that Ser Dontos would help her escape, but not until it actually happened did she suppose she would have trusted him. _I had been trapped in King’ Landing for such long months, pinning my hopes on Dontos, while he only gave me slobbery kisses and unfulfilled promises._ She had been longing for a man of action and now she could see the difference between a man who made promises and a man who acted. Dontos didn’t have the courage or skill that Clegane had. At least I didn’t risk killing Dontos. _Her Florian_. She wondered if she ought to tell the Hound about it...

  But it wasn’t that she didn’t trust Sandor. She realized with a start that this was the first time she thought of him by his name alone… Regardless, Sansa trusted him more than all the people at court now. There were thousands of times when he could’ve hurt her or taken advantage of her, whether it was back at the Red Keep or here in the woods. Sansa knew now that the Hound had tried to restrain himself from hurting her back in her bed, as he loomed just above her, while she was crushed to the bed and the fear of him pointing his dagger at her had clashed with some instinct in her that told her he wouldn’t really do her any harm. And he had also defied the Lannisters with helping her escape...

  “ _You won’t hurt me_ ,” Sansa said. It wasn’t a question.

  Clegane blinked and looked at her strangely. Then the shadow of a kind grin crossed his burned face. “No little bird. I won’t hurt you. I’ll keep you safe,” he promised.

  “Thank you,” she murmured softly, shivering.

  “Come to the fire,” he rasped down at her, letting her go.

  She nodded and walked towards it, immediately feeling better. The Hound went off to fetch Stranger and tie him up for the night. As Sandor Clegane tied the horse and caressed its head, she saw him whisper some soothing words into the big destrier’s ear. Sansa had to know _why_ he was doing this- risking the Lannisters fury and all. _I hope they lost the battle. I hope Lord Stannis kills them all._

  Clegane had come back and was roasting the hare on a stick. “I… I know why you couldn’t stay longer in the battle,” she told him, “but aren’t you afraid what the queen or Joffrey might do to you not only for abandoning them, but for helping me escape? After all, you are a member of the Kingsguard. ”

  Sandor’s voice was rough and hard as iron. “Bugger Joffrey, bugger the queen and bugger the Imp. I’m done with their city, done with their Kingsguard, done with the Lannisters. What’s a dog to do with lions, I ask you? Or a little bird? Both get tired of being kicked and picked on. If I never see any of them again it will be too bloody soon… Another example of my good sense, not taking knightly vows. If I had I would be even more bound to them.”

  And finally Sansa Stark fully believed him. She couldn’t say why, she just did. Something had happened to make her feel at ease with him and not afraid to speak her mind- a thing she thought she had forgotten how to do. She had never been completely relaxed around him, but somehow that had all changed after she had cupped his cheek back in her bedroom and had felt his tears.   _He doesn’t belong with the Lannisters anymore. He chose to protect me instead_. Ser Dontos might have been her Florian and promised to get her out of the city, but in the end it had been the Hound who hated knights who had rescued her from her golden cage. She still didn’t really know _why_ he was helping her, but she was so happy he was that she realized it didn’t really matter. _Whatever the reasons may be, he helped me_. _Maybe what I needed was a friend to help me, not a knight_. _And he needs a friend as well_. Sansa smiled at him and said, “You won’t regret leaving the Lannisters! Robb is ever so much nicer than them. You can join his cause and when he wins then you’ll be greatly rewarded.”

  Suddenly she remembered the Hound’s tale of the night of the battle. He had been very scared, yet somehow Sansa thought that it also required courage to go out and face the thing you dread most of all in this world three times. And he had also been concerned for his men and even the horses…. _A responsible leader_. Maybe Robb could even make him a commander of some of his men if she asked it of him nicely. _My brother will surely need a man who is as good with a sword as him_ …

  Sandor gave a snort of contempt. “If your brother doesn’t take me he’d be wise to kill me, but he won’t. Too much his father’s son, from what I hear. If that happens I’ll just laugh in his face and ride off. But if he has the wits the gods gave a toad, he’ll beg me to enter his service. He needs me, though he may not know it yet. I’ll even kill Gregor for him, he’d like that after all the trouble my brother has been causing. And if he wins maybe he’ll make me a lordling. Either way _you_ will be safe. But I am not looking to ransom you, little bird. I have enough gold from your father’s tourney as it is.”

  “I am sure that he’ll take you,” she said confidently. “If he hesitates I’ll make him see that he needs you. I promise.” She could do that much. Robb may not like him at first, but she was in debt to Sandor Clegane.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but must have thought better of it because instead he only laughed, the sound softer than before.

  The hare was greasy and crackling after that and when it was ready the Hound ripped it in half and offered her one side. Whatever else might have happened that night, she was still a lady and didn’t like to eat the greasy animal with her bare hands. But she _was_ hungry, so she tried to at least eat it with decency.

  “So where are we to find a ship to take us to White Harbor?” she asked him, nibbling at a leg, her brow wrinkling.

  Clegane shrugged. “Well, to the east of the Kingswood lies the narrow sea, so I’m meaning for us to head to the coastline between Massey’s Hook and Tarth. There are many fishing villages scattered there. One of them is bound to have a ship anchored there. And if we are lucky they won’t know me, nor what happened at the Blackwater and how I deserted or that you’re missing, and maybe one can take us to White Harbor or thereabouts as makes no matter… But we still have to be careful and keep to the thickest parts of these woods as much as possible because the lions have spies everywhere. Even if Stannis won the battle and sacked the city, you are very valuable. Your brother is too far away to have won the smallfolk’s love south of the Reach. So they might turn on you if they realize who you are. But most won’t. They are very remote villages and they will have heard more of Joffrey’s dog than of you.”

  That reminded her of something she hadn’t yet thanked him for. Yes, he had said that he didn’t care about it anymore but still, he had been with Joff for years. He might have been horrible but after all, Joffrey Baratheon _did_ seem fond of the Hound.

  “What about the king?”

  He knew she meant Joffrey. “What about him? He can die just fine on his own.”

  “But… you were his sworn shield.”

  “And you were going to be his queen,” he mocked back.

  Sansa stiffen. “I… I hate him,” she finally confessed out loud, though she was sure the Hound had known this for quite some time now. _Everyone did_. “I hate all Lannisters. But you… Joffrey gave you a white cloak and yet you still decided to help me. No one else would’ve done it.”

  Sandor’s eyes watched hers. “I’d do it again, little bird,” he snarled.

  A flush crept up her neck at that. “Thank you”

  He gave a grunt and then she said, “Do you think that they’ll suspect we fled together?

  The Hound thought about that for a moment. “Well, no one expected me to leave the Lannisters- and least of all to take Joff’s pretty little bird away with me, did they? Not even I did… But they fear me enough to leave me alone. They won’t bother to look for _me_ , but they will for you. It all depends on if they know you’re with me. They are bound to at least suspect sooner or later even though I don’t think anyone ever saw us talking alone back at the Red Keep. Still, if Stannis won then it might take them a little longer to notice we are gone, but unless they think I stole you for ransom, they will never think we ran off together… If the Lannisters destroyed Stannis though, well, they’ll come to the same conclusions only quicker.”

  “Do you think Stannis would have harmed me if he’d won and the queen hadn’t been able to order Ser Illyn to chop off my head?”

  Sandor met her eyes. “Little bird, Stannis is a killer,” he answered, and she could almost hear the rest of it. “The Lannisters are killers. Your father was a killer. Your brother is a killer. Your sons will be killers someday. The world is built by killers. So you better get used to looking at them.”

  Sansa understood. He always got his point across. Stannis wouldn’t send her back to her family any more than the Lannisters had. It was a _stupid_ question.

  Sandor stood up. “It’s time we got some sleep. Whoever won the battle, they’ll be looking soon enough. We have to rest to keep our strength,” he said, his voice sounding like two wood saws grinding together.

  Sansa nodded and stood up as well. She grabbed the waterskin but instead of drinking from it she used the water to wipe the grease of dinner from her fingers. Sandor laughed at that and Sansa saw that the mocking glint was back in his eyes. She ignored him but he only laughed harder before laying out her bedroll for the night. She thanked Sandor curtly and settled down to rest for the night. She could hear Sandor tying his armor into the saddle, and she gave a quick thought of pity at how the poor destrier could carry so much weight and still seem as if he hadn’t just spent the past days running all through the Kingswood in fear of pursuit.

  Just as she was closing her eyes a wolf howled in the distance. It made Sansa feel safe. _It sounds just like Lady_ , Sansa thought smiling. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are & always will always be very welcome! i hope you're liking the story so far :)


	5. It Wasn't Like in the Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer:  
> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brillian work of GRRM  
> *My eternal thanks to my great betas: gingerbeer48, swiftsnowmane, vargasse & onborrowedwings!! <3 You're the BEST :D  
> *The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on. 
> 
> **In swear this is their last chapter in the Kingswood.** ;)

  It took them eight more days to finally reach the coastline, and by then Sansa was tired and aching all over. It didn’t matter anymore if she walked or rode Stranger. She would wake up stiff and sore either way, and whenever Sandor helped her to dismount, she had to bite her lip to hide her pain. At least now she didn’t ride pillion behind him, trying to gather her strength and focus it on not letting go of him, unless she cared to for a broken neck. Once, as they tried to rest for the night, amidst the starry darkness beneath the trees, she almost burst out laughing as she recalled how many times she had dreamed of being rescued by a gallant knight who loved her. Sansa had been a silly little girl then, and now the woman in her clearly saw the contrast between dreams and reality. She had been rescued to be sure, but not out of love. She was fleeing for her life. And the gallant knight she had once longed for had not appeared either. In the end it was the fearsome Hound who had saved her. She would’ve told him the irony of it if she hadn’t feared he would bark at her the way he had that night on the rooftop when she had thanked him for rescuing her from the mob. He’d clearly stated he was not one of the knights from her songs, nor did he have any desire to become one. Still… the songs never told you how dirty you could get either, or how saddle sores could torment you at all times. Sansa’s once beautiful gown was practically rags now, and the fur of bear cloak was so filthy and matted. Her riding boots were still in good shape, but there was dirt under her nails and a scab on her elbow, and a few scratches on her hands. At least she did not have callused or cracked feet. _Neither my lady mother nor Septa Mordane would know me_. It was better now since her moonblood had left her, and Sandor had been right in one thing- the Kingswood _was_ a safe place to hide in! And they had at least managed to avoid going hungry. They had finished the last of the food they had brought from King’s Landing, but Sandor knew how to survive in the wild, and he always managed to catch some hare or bird for them to eat, sometimes they would use his helm to boil some rabbit stew. There were also many apples and berries to eat in the woods. Sandor once caught Sansa smiling to herself as she recalled a time long ago back in Winterfell when Arya had eaten a bug just to bother her… At least neither Sandor nor she were eating bugs just yet. She admired her little sister for it, but she didn’t care to try a worm herself.

  Nor did they go thirsty. Not a day had passed that they did not come upon a stream or a pond in which to refill his wineskin or her waterskin. Sansa missed the taste of bread and eggs and lemoncakes, but she wasn’t about to start complaining about the food that Clegane did manage to get for them… The only thing that still bothered Sansa at times was when one of them felt like making water. It was embarrassing to find a reason to excuse herself so she could go away and do her business, but it was even worse when Sandor felt the need of it because he wasn’t embarrassed at all. More often than not Sansa would blush and look everywhere but at the tree or bush where Sandor had decided to stop, as she tried to ignore the sound.

  The journey from the capital to the villages around the coastline had also served to spare her nights from the terrible nightmares that haunted her of the day when the mob attacked her. Whether it was because she had been too exhausted to muster the strength to dream or because Sandor, the one who had saved her from the mob, was now always by her side, the nightmares had gone for now… And yet, there were his snores. The first time Sansa had awoken because of them, she didn’t know if she ought to be upset or laugh. The only man she’d heard snoring was her lord father, but that had been back when she was a little girl and had climbed into her parent’s bed to feel safe and forget the monsters of Old Nan’s stories that would not let her sleep… And once she and Jeyne Poole had come upon Fat Tom snoring loudly after he dozed off near the kitchens. It had been so hard to stop themselves from waking him with their giggles that day… But Sandor Clegane was no Fat Tom. Sansa lay on her bedroll, unable to sleep for a time as she heard his snores cut through the night’s stillness. After a time they didn’t seem so frighteningly loud as she had first thought them to be, and in less than no time Sansa drifted off to the land of dreams once more. After a couple more nights his snores had actually become a reassuring sound, since they meant that Sandor was still there to keep her safe.

  He seemed to know his way around the forest, for which Sansa was thoroughly relieved. She couldn’t tell at times whether they were going south, east, or north, but Sandor didn’t appear lost at any time. Whether he managed this out of intuition, the position of the stars or the place where moss grew on tree trunks, or whether it was because he’d already been here more than once and was familiar with the place, she did not know. However each day they got closer to their destination.

  Many things had happened in the last days which made Sansa hardly able to recognize herself, but if you had asked her if she would’ve preferred to sleep in her comfortable bed back at the Red Keep or on the hard ground of the Kingswood, Sansa only had to close her eyes and recall Joffrey’s face to choose the latter. She thanked both the old gods and the new that she was no longer in King’s Landing, and that she now had someone to rely on. In time she was able to laugh freely and chatter away happily, things she could not remember doing in a dreadfully long time.

  One day, in an earthen hollow made by the roots of a fallen oak, they came face to face with another survivor of the battle between Lord Stannis and the Lannisters. The badge on his chest showed the flaming heart of Stannis Baratheon’s new foreign god, and he told them that he served House Celtigar; he was a bowman, though he’d lost his bow. His left shoulder was all twisted and swollen where it met his arm; a blow from a mace, he said, it had broken his shoulder and smashed his chainmail deep into his flesh. He started to cry after that and talk about a girl called Bessa. Sandor asked him if he had notion of who had won the battle. But the young man only shook his head and said he supposed the Lannisters had. Sansa felt as though her heart had lodged in her throat at that. The bowman had abandoned the battle after he had been hurt, but he had managed to see that the Lannisters were winning both by land and sea, all thanks to a damnable chain and the Pyromancer’s Piss. Sansa had no idea to what chain he was referring to, but his eyes were fever bright when he said that, and Sansa could tell it was true. His shoulder was swollen grotesquely, pus and blood had stained his whole left side. There was a stink to him too. _He smells like a corpse_ , Sansa thought. The man begged them for a drink of wine.

  “If I had any wine, I’d have drunk it myself,” Sandor told him. “I can give you water and the gift of mercy.”

  The archer looked at him for a long while before he said, “You’re Joffrey’s dog.”

  “My own dog now. Do you want the water?”

  “Aye.” The man swallowed. “And the mercy. Please.”

  They had passed a small pond a short way back. Sandor Clegane took the waterskin and told Sansa to stay where she was while he went to fill it. Sansa never knew why she went to the young man and knelt beside him when the Hound was gone, the leaves on the ground rustling faintly. She saw that his wound was bleeding afresh, and she could smell even more clearly how death clung to him, but she still took his hand in her own. The young man’s eyes met hers, and he started to cry again.

  “And who is this Bessa you mentioned earlier?” she asked him, in soothing tones.

  Bessa was the love he had left behind in the holdfast where he grew up. She couldn’t learn more because the Hound came back then. Sansa held up her arm for the Hound to pass her the skin. His mouth twitched as he gave it to her. The archer turned his face up and she poured the water into his mouth. He gulped it down as fast as she could pour, and what he couldn’t gulp ran down his cheeks into the brown blood that crusted his whiskers, until pink tears dangled from his beard. When the water was gone he clutched the waterskin and licked it.

  “Good,” he said. “I wish it was wine, though. I wanted wine.”

  “Me too,” the Hound said. He turned to look at Sansa and rasped, “If you don’t want to see this, you’d best look away.”

  But she could not bring herself to turn away. The man was clutching her hand, and she didn’t feel it would be fair for her to abandon him as he left this world. So she shook her head, saying, “You told me the world is built by killers and that I should get used to looking at them.”

  She looked back at the young man. He was staring at her eyes intently, making Sansa feel as though she was baring her soul and her secrets to him. She forced herself not to start trembling, and instead smiled kindly as Sandoreased his dagger into the man’s chest almost tenderly, the weight of his body driving the point through his surcoat, ringmail and the quilting beneath. As he slid the blade back out and wiped it on the dead man, Clegane looked at Sansa.

  “That’s where the heart is, little bird. That’s how you kill a man. It was brave of you not to look away.”

  Sansa didn’t know what to say to that. She gulped and asked, “Will we bury him?”

  “Why?” Sandor said. “He doesn’t care, and we’ve got no spade. Leave him for the wolves and wild dogs. Your brothers and mine.” He gave her a hard look. “First we rob him, though. We need every coin we can get our hands on.”

  There were five silver stags in the archer’s purse, and almost fifty coppers. His dagger had a pretty pink stone in the hilt. Clegane hefted the knife in his hand, then flipped it toward Sansa. She caught it hesitantly by the hilt and looked at the Hound. He cast a long shadow as he said, his voice rough and hard as an iron grasp, “You’ll be keeping it. I’ll show you how to use it later.”

  _I don’t wish to learn how to use_ it, she almost said. But she supposed it was for the best. Clegane was trying to do the best he could to keep them alive in his own way. _Arya had her dancing master but I have the Hound_. _He is helping me learn how to survive_. She took the dagger’s sheath as well from the corpse with trepidation.

  The dead man had a quiver of arrows too, but arrows weren’t much good without a bow. He had no cloak on him, and his boots were too big for Sansa and too small for Sandor, so those they left as well.

  “He must have had a horse as well, or he wouldn’t have got away,” Clegane said, peering about, “but its bloody well gone, I’d say. No telling how long he’s been here.”

  Suddenly she recalled what the man had said about the outcome of the battle. “Do you think he was right? Did the Lannisters win?”

  “He might be right,” Sandor said grudgingly, “Doesn’t really matter for now though. We still need to get to the coastline as quickly as we can…”

  Sansa looked down at the dead man. “If we’re not going to bury him then we ought to not linger here anymore. This place makes me uneasy.”

  The Hound agreed.

 

  The following afternoon they had decided to rest for an hour or so besides five great oak trees, a little stream running merrily by their side from a small waterfall nearby. It was a peaceful place, and Sansa began to wonder what would happen once the war ended and Robb won- as he was sure to do. She supposed they would all go back to Winterfell and Robb would marry and have heirs, while she and her mother mourned Father, Bran, Arya, Rickon, and all the others who had died, like Septa Mordane, Jeyne Poole, Jory Cassel, Old Nan, Maester Luwin and so many more. _I suppose I will one day have to marry as well. Probably some lord who served Robb loyally until the end._ Sansa was certain that Robb wouldn’t force her into marrying a man she didn’t love, but that day was still too far away for her to worry about. After that she found herself thinking what Sandor would do when the war ended and she had managed to convince her family to accept him into their midst- for convince them she would. Sansa would let them see that Sandor was a good man deep down, loyal and trustworthy. She supposed he would want to go and kill his brother, but would he return to the Starks after that? He had said he would join Robb if they let him, but once he killed his brother he would be the heir to the Clegane lands, titles and gold. She remembered that long ago day when her father had sat on the Iron Throne and sent Lord Beric Dondarrion to bring the king’s justice to Sandor’s brother… Maybe he would like that better than living up North. But the more she thought about it, the more wrong that seemed. _The North would be perfect for him_. Northerners were meant to be tough and strong, and the Hound was all these things. He didn’t like Court much, nor to be called _ser_ or lord… Well, in the North these things were of much less importance than in the South. _He even looks like a Northman_. _He has grey eyes and dark hair like father did, and Arya and Jon Snow_ …

  She came back to the present as she heard Stranger neighing. Sandor had sat down on a rock to hone the edge of his sword when they first arrived at this spot, while Sansa had decided to settle down by the stream. She had taken off her riding boots so she could put her feet in the stream to ease the pain on the soles of her feet with the cool water. Sansa turned her face around to catch Sandor staring at her bare feet as they played around in the water.

  Sansa blushed and felt she ought to say something.

  “Your cut is healing,” she managed to point out at last.

  Sandor took a moment too long in taking his eyes from her the sight of her bare ankles and feet, but he didn’t say anything.

  _He’s probably angry about wasting wine in the cut instead of using it to get drunk_. She sighed and asked, “Are we close to the coastline now?”

  As his eyes met her own he only shrugged and replied, “Closer than we were the last time you asked.”

  Sansa wrinkled her brow. He saw the gesture and chuckled, a sour sound, part rumble, part a snarl. “We are near Haystitch Hall, girl.”

  Sansa thought for a moment back on the heraldry of the Houses of the Stormlands.

  “Isn’t that the seat of House Errol?” she asked him.

  Clegane grinned, and though his burns pulled tight, twisting his mouth cruelly, it wasn’t an unpleasant sight now. As the days passed Sansa found that the Hound’s face did not frighten her the way it once had.

  “It is, clever little bird,” he said with something that sounded oddly enough like pride. “But we can’t get close to it. I don’t know for which of Robert’s brothers they declared, but you can be sure they are no friends to us. There’s no place that’s safe for the likes of us now.”

  Those words did not surprise her. Desperate as she was for a warm bath and a bed, they couldn’t risk being seen by anyone just yet.

  She nodded and smiled kindly at Sandor to show him she understood. After a moment he remarked, “At least you look at my face now when you talk to me, little bird.”

  Sandor’s eyes bore into hers as he said this, and he must have thought her expression amusing because he laughed then, a short chuckle that was half a growl… He stood up and put away his sword. He walked up to her, saying, “Come. It’s time you and Stranger became friends.” His mouth twitched in something that Sansa suspected was some ill-concealed amusement.

  He pulled her gently to her feet, and Sansa wondered at how small her delicate hands seemed to be when compared to the Hound’s huge rough ones, but just as soon as she was on her feet, he let her go. Sansa’s musings were interrupted. When they had almost reached Stranger he balked, rearing his hooves and lashing at her. The horse was handsome enough, and had the sweetest of tempers with Sandor, but Sansa remembered stable boys back at the Red Keep complaining of Stranger, and how the horse had almost bitten one’s ear off one morning. They muttered sullenly that it was a good thing that the Hound was the one usually to tend to the beast, since the horse had a temper as black as his master’s.

  While she knew that Clegane wasn’t as bad as others thought him to be- at least not around her- his horse frightened Sansa. Ever since she was little, she had never liked horses much. When Stranger heard them approaching him, she saw him lashing his tail, as he stopped nibbling at a tuft of grass.

  “I’m not sure he wants to be disturbed,” she said, nervously.

  Sandor snorted. “Bugger that. Don’t be frightened, little bird. I won’t let him hurt you. But you need to learn how to manage him by yourself.”

  Sansa gulped and scuffed at a rock with her boot. The Hound took the horse’s reins and began to whisper soothing words in his ear while she watched them.

  “Get some oats from the sack and come here,” Clegane told her.

  Sansa fetched the oats and while Sandor kept on whispering to his horse, she offered the food in her hand to the horse. For a moment she was afraid that Stranger would rear, but then he took the food from her hand just as any other horse would.

  Sandor laughed. His laughter was like dogs snarling at each other in a pit, but Sansa found herself looking up at him with a big smile on her face.

  “See, little bird? I knew he would like you. Now come here and pat him.”

  He took her hand in his and put it in the horse’s mane, and she obeyed and started to stroke him, while Sandor stood behind her, ready if for some reason the horse changed his mind and decided that he didn’t like her after all.

  “ _He is beautiful_ ,” she whispered as she gave the horse an admiring look. It was as black as night or a raven’s wing. She hadn’t paid him that much attention before, and she knew that if the Hound hadn’t been nearby, the horse would’ve probably tried to bite _her_ ear off, but Sandor now assured her that she was safe around the big horse, and told her that if she just kept on spending some moments with him every day, they would become fast friends…

  That promise came true quick enough, and Sandor also kept his promise of teaching her how to use the dagger they had taken from the archer, though Sansa was still not very happy about learning how to use it. She had kept it in the saddlebag, but now Clegane brought it out and passed the dagger to her.

  She took it, and in the end, thankfully, Sandor didn’t try to make a fighter out of her. He just gave her basic advice to know where to hurt someone who might try and harm her.

  Thus far things went on as smoothly as they could when fleeing for one’s life in the woods. That is, until the rain came…

\--

  The sky had been threatening with a storm all that day, but it wasn’t until night had fallen that the clouds began to weep. They had already settled into a snug little windbreak by then to rest, between a rock to keep the wind off, and some trees, but just as Sandor had started to try and make a fire, the rain began to fall. He kept on trying but the wood was soon too wet to light no matter how many sparks he struck on his flint and steel. The kindling sent up some smoke but that was all. Disgusted, he kicked it all, swearing “Seven bloody hells! I hate fires!”

  Sansa had already curled up beneath her shaggy bear cloak and settled down with her back to a rock, resigned to have neither much rest nor warmth tonight. But Sandor only had his white Kingsguard cloak to warm himself with, and even Stranger had his blanket to keep warm. The Hound had tied him to a tree to avoid him running off during the storm. At least they still had some of the apples they had taken that morning from a tree for their dinner. Sandor took one out now and sliced it in halves and went to feed Stranger.

  She sighed and turned her face up to sky and closed her eyes. The raindrops brushed her cheeks like lover’s kisses, and she could taste the water on her lips and feel it on her lashes. The ground soon turned into mud and the cold had her trembling throughout. The water had soaked through the bear cloak and Sandor’s white cloak probably wouldn’t keep water off either. She hoped they wouldn’t get sick…

 

  Sandor finished feeding Stranger while he brooded on how much he needed some wine. It had been days since the wineskin had been full with anything but water. He turned around when he heard the little bird sigh as she huddled under her bear cloak, her face turned up towards the sky.

  _What the -_? he wondered.

  He patted Stranger’s mane and walked back to where she sat only to stop short in his tracks as he caught sight of her face. _What a crazy little bird she is! How she can find this blasted rain enjoyable is beyond me…_ Her long hair was plastered all about her face, and the rain was falling down her cheeks like tears, but she looked peaceful. Peaceful and perfect. She opened her eyes and he was suddenly aware that he had not only come to squat before her, but he was also staring at her with his mouth slightly open, looking like a bloody fool.

  “You’re bound to catch a cold like that, girl. You’re already shivering,” he managed to say at last, mouth twitching.

  “You too,” the little bird replied.

  And suddenly, without knowing what he was doing, Sandor sat down, the good side of his face to her, and pulled his white cloak over the both of them. The moment he felt her body besides him he was sure that she would give a start and tell him that it wasn’t proper for him to sit close to her, but Sansa Stark did none of these things _. Apart from the time when she cleaned my cut we haven’t been this close since the night we escaped_. There couldn’t be a greater contrast,that night had been as hot as hell with the damnable green fire burning all over the place, right now a cold wind was howling as the rains fell down. Content, Sandor rested his back on the damp rocks… For a while the rain was the only sound in the world, until he voiced his thoughts. “Hopefully this rain will go away soon. It’ll be dangerous to board a ship with autumn storms coming.”

  The little bird opened her pretty mouth to reply but ended up letting a small yawn escape her. _She’s tired poor thing_ , he mused.

  “Try and get some rest, little bird,” he rasped.

  She nodded, already beginning to close her eyes. Sandor was left alone with his thoughts. He had been feeling like shit ever since the rain started and he hadn’t been able to light a bloody fire to keep the little bird warm.

  _The little bird_ … She had been brave and strong these past few days. She had surprised him with her ability to survive in the woods without complaining or crying. _She’s quite strong on the inside_ , he thought amazed for the hundredth time. The wolf in her could be seen at times, especially like on the day they had met that fool archer and the little bird had refused to look away, taking his word about killers to heart, and not abandoning the wretch during his last moment on earth. _Or like that time when she told Joff that her brother may give her_ his _head_. And then she had walked forward and he had known that she intended to throw Joffrey and herself from the rampart. But he had intervened to avoid it then… That was the time when he had first seen the strength of the North and the direwolf in her. She had even managed to befriend Stranger when grown men had even failed at putting a saddle on him. Sure, he had been there to give a hand, but still, she hadn’t complained when he suggested it…

  Though he had never met a girl more courteous or ladylike, she had been able to bear all that had befallen her since she had escaped the capital with him. He had thought that she would be constantly grumbling about being tired or sick of sleeping on the ground, but she enduring everything quietly, and so she had him in awe. He could see that she was tired though, whether she rode or walked these days… At least they hadn’t gone hungry _yet_. _She’s learned how to endure unpleasant things thanks to Joff and the other fucking members of the royal idiot’s sodding Kingsguard. May they burn in all seven hells..! Well,_ a _t least that’s done now_.

 Even now when he had promised her he would protect her and keep her safe, in times like this he feared she would still manage to get hurt if she caught a fever. Sandor could feel that her bear cloak was soaked through by now, and vowed to himself that he would get her warm clothes as soon as they reached the coastline… Though he would have to let her know that even if he had the gold and would gladly buy the finest silks she could get her pretty little hands on, she would have to dress in wool and peasant’s clothing for a while. She was too beautiful and noble to be considered a peasant or a milkmaid, and whenever she spoke it was easy to see that she was highborn. She would have to keep quiet and try to hide her pretty face, but at least they could dress her as a common girl to keep unwanted attention away for as long as they could. He would be recognizable, but he was sure the Lannisters would _not_ come searching for _him_. But they would for Sansa. _It’s only for a little while though_ , he thought. Once they reached the North he would ask the fat Lord Manderley himself to dress the daughter of his beloved Ned Stark as befit a princess.

  He snorted as he imagined the faces of the Lannisters, her family, Sansa herself; and the whole wide world, if they ever found out that he, the Hound, was actually worrying about what Sansa Stark should be wearing. _What in the seven buggering fucking hells is she doing to me? She’s not even a real woman yet and still I can’t stop behaving like one of those fucking fools from her songs!_

  For a quick moment he hated her. But that feeling was gone in the blink of an eye and all his current thoughts were damned to hell when Sandor felt the little bird’s head resting on his shoulder. He looked down startled to realize she had managed to fall asleep despite the rain and the cold. Sandor had been consider moving a little bit to the left for some moments now, but when he thought that it might disturb Sansa’s sleep he kept still. Then he almost swore out loud when he realized that he was starting to think of her as _Sansa_ , rather than as _the little bird_.

  Some time passed by until a particularly loud thunder clap broke in the sky, scaring Stranger who snorted loudly. The thunder and the horse both managed to make enough noise to wake the little bird. She raised her head startled and after a moment of looking disoriented she looked up at him.

  “Just some bloody thunder, little bird.”

  “Haven’t you tried to get some rest?”

  He snorted. “I couldn’t catch some sleep in this rain unless I had enough wine to get dead drunk. Beats me how you managed to get some sleep yourself.”

  “How long do you think it is until morning?”

  He shrugged. “The hour of the wolf hasn’t passed yet… Are you hungry?”

  The little bird shook her head. “No. But thank you for asking,” she said, polite as ever.

She tried to peer through the darkness to see their surroundings, but there was no moon tonight and the skies were starless.

  “It’s so cold,” she whispered, shivering.

  Sandor grinned, though in this darkness she couldn’t see it. “Aren’t you supposed to like the cold, little bird? You’re from the bloody North.”

  “Well yes… but this-”

  “I know,” he growled, cutting her off before she could finish, and suddenly he put his arm around her and held her close. She didn’t try to resist this and after only moment of hesitation she huddled closer in his embrace and rested her head on his chest. Sandor wondered at how good it felt to hold her in his arms in this way, trying to keep her as warm as he could. He would have thanked the gods if they had provided even the simplest of hay barns. _Anything to get the little bird out of this rain and the cold_ , but there was nothing but his arm to warm her with.

  _Bugger_. His cock didn’t take long in getting hard, but thankfully it was too dark for Sansa to see his stirring member. He had imagined for months how it would feel to hold her like this, but never would he have hazarded that he would in fact be doing it. Only instead of in a nice warm room, they would be freezing their arses off in the bloody rain as others were on the hunt for her.

  Still, cold bleak moments like this would be what would comfort him in the years to come. After he killed his brother he had promised the little bird he would take up a position with her brother, if the boy king allowed it. But even if he did, the moment he gave her back to her family he would lose her. He would go on fighting her brother’s wars while she ended up marrying a loyal twat who happened one of the Young Wolf’s banner man… _Even if I was allowed to be her sworn shield, it might be worse to have to watch her day after day after day kissing another, growing in love and having a family_ … Thus, he tried to enjoy this moment and how it felt to have the little bird sleeping beside him and finding warmth in his body. _It can’t get better than this,_ he suspected.

  As he felt his cock stirring Sandor thought that the following weeks were going to be hell when it came to hiding his desire for Sansa. Already he had tried to ignore his gut instinct to take her in his arms and kiss her whenever this happened, and so far he had been strong enough to stop his mind from wandering down that road… Instead he began thinking about how long it had been since he had last tasted some wine, sour red, dark as blood.

  They didn’t speak much after that, and in the end both of them managed to sleep for a little while. In the morning the rain stopped and the clouds broke as they woke up with stiff limbs.

 

  That was the morning when Sandor left behind forever his snarling dog’s helm and his oaken shield with the Clegane’s house sigil painted on it: three black dogs upon a yellow autumn field. Sansa remembered the night he had told her about how his family had passed from being kennel masters to having lands and a towerhouse and the chance of having future heirs as knights one day. But Sandor had grown up hating knights _. I like dogs better than knights_ , she remembered him saying. _A dog will die for you, but never lie to you. And he’ll look you straight in the face._ Sansa was starting to realize the truth and importance to those words…

  When she asked Sandor why he couldn’t bring them along he’d said that his shield’s sigil and helm were too easily recognizable, so he left them in the place where they had rested for the night.

  “With any luck they will stay here forever and rot. But if some fool one day comes upon them, he may start wearing the helm and then the Lannisters will think that they’ve found me at long last.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so muh for the wonderful reviews I've received so far! they mean the world to me, and i can't wait to show you what's next for Sansa & Sandor. Please keep on sharing your thoughts on this fic :D


	6. At the Inn of the Stormed King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimers:  
> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brillian work of GRRM  
> *My betas: gingerbeer48, swiftsnowmane, vargasse & onborrowedwings!! I owe you so much and for that I thank you all once more!!  
> *The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.

  Sansa was walking from one tree to the next, caressing their trunks lightly in turn with her fingers when she felt Sandor lay his hand on her shoulder and remark in a casual tone, “Look. There’s a ship right over there.”

  Sansa gazed towards the sea’s horizon and could indeed see a ship at long last anchored by the shore! Feeling the cold breeze on her face, she turned her head and looked up at Sandor smiling, only to find him grinning down at her already.

  “Told you we would make it, little bird. Next time don’t pout or doubt me when you have to wait to get the blasted thing I promised you.”

  Sansa lowered her eyes then, though she kept on smiling. If truth be told, she had been a little quiet this day because she just could not see why they couldn’t go and get some food from the previous two villages they had had come across that day. Late afternoon was already at hand but this day they had finally arrived at the coastline. After waking up and moving on for the day it had only taken them less than an hour to start smelling the salty air that could only mean their escape through the Kingswood was close at hand. Sandor had let her ride the horse alone while he lead Stranger by the reins until they finally reached the ocean, and Sansa had spent that time recalling a trip she had made long ago to White Harbor with her father and little sister. The boys had asked to come too, but Father had promised them that next time he would take them along since this trip was meant to be only for the girls. Sansa remembered how excited she’s been the first time she had heard the sea and the sight of it as they reached the top of a hill overlooking White Harbor. _And now I’m going there again, only this is going to be a very different visit_. No leisurely trip, only a means to an end to finally be with her family… _And it’s Sandor who will accompany me now, not Arya or Father_ …

  She tried to muster all the memories she had of that visit but since she had been only a little girl at the time, it was difficult. What she did remember was that Lord Manderley was a kind, old man, loyal to the bones to the Starks, or so she had once overheard her father telling her lady mother, though he was offensively fat. But his seat was quite nice. The city had taken her breath away back then, and the court room where House Manderley’s rule derived from had been an eerie yet strangely beautiful room where little Sansa had felt almost like a mermaid under the sea. She tried to imagine how different the room would look to her now when she was they ushered in to put forth her plea of help. _Or maybe we should find a way to meet_ _in private with Lord Manderley?_

  They had slowed their pace this morning, and by the time they came upon the first village Sansa was so happy she almost bolted off Stranger until Sandor stopped her.

  “Where in seven hells do you think you’re flying to, little bird?”

  Incredulous she had looked between him and the village.

  “No you’re not. You see a ship anywhere nearby, do you?”

  For a moment she just looked at him, but then she turned to search for a ship only to find none. The village contained about a dozen houses, but the closest thing to a ship where a couple of boats laying discarded in the sand.

  “As much as I would like to enter the first place where I’m likely to get my hands on some wine, we can’t go in there or to any other village unless we see there is a ship which can carry us away from here. If we go into this village right now only to get some food, no matter how isolated it is, word will spread sooner rather than later if they recognize me, which they are bloody well going to do no matter how lackwit and stupid the peasants are. Since there’s no blasted ship to begin with we would have to move on to the next village with people already aware that we are nearby.”

  Understanding came to her long before he finished, and reluctantly she nodded. “How far must we go then?”

  He shrugged. Only until a village that had a ship.

  “Neither of these shits of hovels will be a port, little bird… Which I think might just work for the better for us at present. But don’t worry. Cogs and galleys call on them, though not more than one at a time, so I think we should be lucky soon.”

  Around midday they came upon the second village. This one was smaller than the previous one and this time Sansa did not try to run towards it. There was not a ship to be seen in this one either… She was a little sullen with the anticipation of finding a ship after that, and could not help but wonder if they would have to trot around the coastline, keeping to the shelter of the trees for days until the longed for ship came into view.

  So when Sandor finally spied the ship she was sure he was grinning as a way to mock her for her lack of patience and, faith and for her sullenness.

  Sansa saw then that the ship was a big galley before she let her eyes travel to the village and counted roughly twenty roofs at the most. Even if there had been more people in it, it was still a fishing village, same as the last ones. Sansa tried to imagine her dinner. Some oysters or a nice baked fish in clay or a crisp lobster. She wouldn’t be getting any of those of course, but they would hopefully have a roof over their heads, a bath and a hot meal.

  “Now little bird, before we go in there, listen to what I’m about to tell you and don’t you dare interrupt, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Our presence will be on everyone’s tongue in less than an hour. The innkeep won’t bother with asking our names, but he’ll be as curious as everyone else. If we act right they might not suspect we’re fleeing, but I’ll be damned if they don’t know my face. At least I don’t think they’ll know who _you_ are, though if one word escapes your pretty mouth it won’t take them long to see you’re highborn. _So keep quiet no matter what_. I’ll ask the questions and give the answers. I’ll order what we need and inquire about the ship. You just do as you’re told in there, and if you have a bloody need to say anything then try and say _m’lord_ instead of _my lord_. They may not know the difference from what a lady’s companion or a servant raised in a castle sounds like compared to the sister of the bloody King in the North.”

  Sansa frowned up at him. “So you think they will believe I’m a servant?” She was both vexed and amazed by that.

  “As long as they don’t _do_ anything about it, it’s no hair off my arse. It doesn’t matter. They can suspect you were raised with noble folk in sight but they may wonder why Joffrey’s dog is guarding a servant.”

  Sansa had longed for someone to tell her what to do and take the weight of making decisions off her shoulders for a bit, but really, she wished Sandor could use nicer language! He seemed oblivious to her mounting annoyance though.

  They left the safety of the woods and walked into the fishing village. There was hardly anyone around at this late hour, and if it hadn’t been for some old people sitting on a porch outside a tiny house or for the lights inside the houses she spied from the windows, she would have suspected the place to be deserted. Sandor walked at her side, a little tense she noted, but that was probably him getting up his guard. Something in her made her want to reach out and grab his hand. Whether for comfort or to stop being a little nervous, she could not say. It was a fleeting thought, and instead of acting on it, she called herself a silly girl and took a better look at her surroundings.

  Sansa looked around her and was glad to see a sept to her right. It was the smallest one she had ever seen, but it felt good to think she could go there and pray her thanks to the new gods for delivering her far and away from Joffrey. _There probably aren’t any weirwood trees around though_. Besides the sept there were a couple of small shops and then more houses. The house that looked to be the inn was barely any bigger than the others, but movement could be seen through the windows, and there where horses in the stable. She suddenly felt a bit nervous and pulled up her bear cloak hood. It was stiff from all the dried mud, but it held up. Sansa looked up to see what Sandor was gazing at. She followed his gaze to the ocean, but with darkness now about them she could not be sure if the ship was a galley or a cog.

  A small boy ran from the stables to take Stranger.

  “Don’t,” Sandor warned him. “He’ll bite off your head if I let him go.”

  The boy didn’t answer. He just stood there gaping wide-eyed at Sandor as if he had never seen anything like him before. Sansa could sense Sandor’s mounting annoyance and irritation. She was about to open her mouth and ask the boy politely to lead the way to the stables when she recalled Sandor’s instructions.

  “What the hell are you doing standing there with your fucking mouth open like that!” Sandor roared, breaking the silence and making the boy jump out of his skin. “Move away before I _do_ let go of the horse so he can step over you…”

  The boy did as he was bid finally and Sansa followed them into the stables after she noticed the name painted on the sign by the inn’s door. _The Stormed King_.  Sandor was taking all of their things off Stranger, Sansa offered to lend in a hand. He gave her Stranger’s blanket and some pieces of his armor. He carried the horse’s saddle, after he’d given the boy a hard glance and instructions to just look after the destrier and send word if anything went wrong.

  “I’ll come back later to check on both of you.”

  “You gave that boy the fright of his life,” she whispered to him as they left the stable.

  He grunted and shrugged. “I was scaring you not a week ago I think, and look how far we’ve come… But I will _really_ scare you if you say one more word. I told you to stop that chirping.” 

  He then pushed the inn’s door open with his shoulder and they both stepped into _The Stormed_ _King’s_ common room, Sandor loosening his sword from its scabbard.

  The first thing Sansa noticed was that there were only men inside. She gulped and followed Sandor inside, as he closed the door shut with his foot.

  It couldn’t have turned out better. The inn was not a big house, but there was a room available, as well as food for them and even Stranger, which meant they would finally get some good rest, a much needed bath and warm food in their bellies. The innkeeper turned out to be a kind old man whom Sansa was sure had at least a notion Sandor was a dangerous man to cross, but he kept quiet and offered them as much comfort as their silver and copper could buy. Their room’s floor was a little too dirty, but the bed was very big. The mattress looked incredibly old and was made of straw. Sansa could not help but frown at it a little bit but the inn keep swore it had no fleas.

  He set his daughter Pia and his little son Lute, the boy from the stables, to prepare their baths and clean their boots, which were still in good shape. They prattled on about the weather, the story behind the inn’s name (that of Durran Godsgrief and Fair Eleni), and of these troubled times. Sandor even allowed them all to call him ser. She was shocked by this, but in the end he only avoided her eyes and kept on grinding his teeth. Sansa asked Sandor quietly to ask Pia if the young woman had any dresses, smallclothes (Sansa had blushed when she said that word to Sandor), stockings and a cloak they could buy. It turned out Pia did have a nice blue wool dress she was willing to give up, and in the end Sandor even bought the innkeeper’s old dark traveling cloak. They had thrown Sandor’s bloodied Kingsguard cloak into the fireplace the first moment they were alone in the room.

  Sandor had stood for a moment too long watching it burn, and Sansa just knew that he was remembering what his brother had done to him. She would have been very surprised had Sandor confided that he was actually thinking about what burning the white cloak represented.

  He had the same look in his eyes that she’d seen when she had encountered him on the rooftop on the night of her first moonblood. Sansa thought she ought to do something to take his mind off that memory, but instead she asked if she should throw her fur cloak and her own clothes into the fire as well.

  He blinked a couple of times before tearing his gaze from the fire and the burning cloak, and looked at her lost for a moment. Then he said, “Don’t burn them. The first moment I can when we’re at sea, I’ll throw them overboard.”

  Later, as she was finally entering her bath, Sandor stood waiting outside in the hall. It had shocked her to see how dirty the bath water turned just moments after she had entered it. When Sansa had emerged from the bedroom clean, with her hair in a long braid and wearing her new dress, she had felt her heart fluttering as Sandor took a moment too long in taking his eyes off her. When it was Sandor’s turn Sansa had to wait outside the room too, while little Lute cleaned her boots.

  Besides the two of them, the inn was occupied by the sailors from the ship. Sansa hadn’t been introduced to them yet, but there had been no mistaking them for what they were.  Just as Lute was finishing his job Sandor opened the door of their room and said, “Ready for dinner?”

  Sansa smiled and nodded, taking note that the cut above his eyebrow was healing neatly, it was barely visible now. He gave her a hand to help her to her feet, and even gave Lute a copper which slightly amended his past behavior with the lad. When the boy ran merrily downstairs Sandor gave her the dagger from the dead archer he’d been teaching her to defend herself with. “Hide it under your skirts and _use_ it as I showed you if it’s necessary.”

  Sansa saw that though he wasn’t wearing his armor, Sandor had still thought it best to bring his sword belt with the sword in its scabbard and was wearing his mailshirt. He let her lead the way downstairs to the common room, resting his hand on her shoulder, as they heard the sailors downstairs breaking into a song.

  “They don’t sound very good, do they?” she teased.

  Sandor made a noise that might have been a laugh.

  “There’s old deaf women in Dorne complaining of the din, I’ll warrant.”

  Sansa suppressed a chuckle with difficulty. _Really, who would’ve thought that the Hound could be this nice?_

  They sat down on the table next to the sailors, as Sandor called for wine. Sansa waited for their dinner to be served, while she stole quick glances at the men. Almost all of them were fair of skin and hair, with blue eyes that would match the sky, the sea or Arryn blue, and all of them were lightly armed. _They didn’t expect someone like Sandor to come out of the Kingswood bringing trouble_. For sailors they were easy on the eye, Sansa concluded, but they didn’t seem to be from Westeros. They didn’t look like any other people in the Seven Kingdoms, and she knew that in the Free Cities men dyed their hair and beards. That and the fact that their voices as they sang sounded odd to her ears, let her imagination to wonder about them... Well, she was going to learn the truth soon enough. Their captain, she supposed, was the one with the blue dyed beard. _He may be the captain of the ship that could take us North_. The captain gave her a little grin and a nod of the head before locking his gaze on Sandor.

  The crab stew finally arrived and though it looked nothing like the meals she’d been used to all her life, it tasted just right and warmed her to the soul. She would’ve liked to drink something else, but before she could protest Sandor poured her a cup of red wine from the flagon the innkeeper had laid at their table. Before the blink of an eye Sandor filled his own cup and in one long drink the wine was gone. He took the flagon once again and Sansa finally took a taste of her own cup. It wasn’t as bad a vintage as she would have thought to find in this place. Apparently Sandor thought the same.

  “This is a good red,” he remarked a little too loudly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Though it isn’t from the Arbor or Dorne.”

  The man with the blue beard had been jesting with his men, but at Sandor’s words he looked at them and smiled broadly.

  “Ahh! You like the wine, good ser? It’s from our homeland, the beautiful Lys!”

  Sandor’s mouth twitched. He looked at the man, then at the wine in his hand, and then back at the man. “Lysene wine, is it? Yes, it’s better than some of the piss tasting shit I’ve had to drink lately.”

  The sailors laughed at that, the man with the blue beard loudest of all. “Just so! We don’t match the Arbor wines it shames me to admit, but… we are famous to the world for _other_ things.”

  Sandor never glanced at Sansa, so she kept on eating her stew quietly, listening, knowing that Sandor was playing a part.

  “So, you’re from Lys,” he commented. “Given that Stannis Baratheon hired a famous Lyseni pirate for his cause it would be stupid to wonder why you are all in this gods forsaken village.”

  The captain surveyed Sandor with those piercing blue eyes, taking in all of his appearance. _He_ _knows he is the Hound_ , Sansa thought in fear. Sandor didn’t flinch from the Lyseni’s gaze. She supposed Sandor was trying his best with this small talk in order to learn more about the sailors, but she had a strong suspicion he didn’t do this very often.

  “Clever man,” the fair man replied, tugging at his curly blue beard. “Yes, we belong to Salladhor Saan of all people, the notorious banker, trader-”

  “Smuggler and pirate,” Sandor put in, breaking a chunk of bread.

  “Just so, yes ser knight. A pirate and a smuggler he is, though that did not seem to matter to this Baratheon.”

  “Stannis is fond of having low scum near him I figure, or haven’t you heard of the Onion Knight?”

  “We have, and Ser Davos is a great friend of Salladhor, I believe.”

  “Since the days when they were both smugglers, I’m sure.”

  The Lysene captain had nothing to say to that. His smiled soured a little but only for a moment.

  “So, you happen to know who won the battle?” Sandor asked, casually.

  “Ahhh, a man must weep when he thinks of it. Stannis was defeated by the lions, I’m afraid.”

  A shiver went through her with those words. _So the Lannisters had won!_ She almost dropped her spoon then. She could only think of two things; that the gods in their mercy had allowed her to escape them when she could, but that she must go as far as possible from Joffrey and his mother as soon as she could.

  She could feel Sandor tense his muscles beside her. “Was he?” said, with only a brief moment of silence to gather his thoughts. “And how did he let himself be defeated by a twisted dwarf?”

  “I don’t know all the details, but words travels from ear to ear, and news reached this man that the Lannisters have formed an alliance of sorts with the Tyrells. They came when the battle was all but lost and Stannis was forced to flee back to Dragonstone.”

  Sandor laughed then. “Before he ended up like the Reynes of Castamere to be sure..!”

  He drank some more wine and finally began to eat his stew, which wasn’t so hot anymore. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment as the Lyseni with the blue beard drank some of his homeland’s wine. “And why aren’t you with him in Dragonstone? How is it that _you_ survived the battle?”

  “You are very curious, my friend, to know about this game of thrones these kings play… Well, as it happens, I like your rough manners, so I shall tell you. This High Lord Captain Stannis’s named… what was his name? One of those lords with foxes in their sigils… Florent, that’s the name! His name was Illy or Imy… Illry, that’s the one..! Well, this lord fox decided that Salladhor Saan’s ships were to stay outside Blackwater Rush in the bay defending the rear of Stannis’s fleet. So we were spared the dreadful hell that the bay became… When Stannis returned to Dragonstone realizing he had lost, Salladhor returned with him, along with almost all of his ships, but the Prince of the Narrow Sea is not a man who will put all his eggs in a single basket. Some of the ships are to pick up any survivors from the battle along the shore, while we, as a trading ship, were instructed to make for the closest of the Free Cities to keep up our trade. To go to Lys we would have to brave the Stepstones, which we do not care to do, what with this war between Lys and Tyros… So we must go to Pentos and try and make poor Salladhor rich again with the help of the fat magisters who sit behind their tall palace doors. You see, Stannis only promises him gold in words, and words are winds as we all know, so…”

  Sansa couldn’t breathe for a moment. This was worse than learning the Lannisters had won for true. The ship wasn’t going north. It was going across the narrow sea to _Pentos_ of all places! _What are we going to do now?_

  Sandor meanwhile ate his stew. Sansa wanted to catch his eyes so he could reassure her that everything would be fine somehow, but he determinedly didn’t look at her. He didn’t act desperate and didn’t show his disappointment that the ship was only going to Essos.

  “Pentos…” he finally said, musing. “And is your boat able to brave the journey with autumn storms at hand?”

  The captain wasn’t smiling as kindly as before now. Sansa thought that now his smiles looked more like the ones she’d seen in lords at court, and she had a strong suspicion that the man was wondering how much gold they had in their possession.

  “My men and I have crossed the narrow sea in all seasons, and my beautiful _Summer Bird_ has made the journey a dozen times through more perilous waters than the ones from the Straits of Tarth or Shipbreaker Bay!”

  Sandor laughed aloud then as he tore a chunk of bread in two with his bare hands.

  The captain looked puzzled, but Sansa knew exactly what had made Sandor laughed. It made her break into a little smile too to hear it. _Summer Bird_ … The first night of her father’s tourney when Sandor had told her the story of his burns, he’d also remarked that she was like a bird from the Summer Isles. _A pretty little talking bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught you to recite_ , she remembered. She had thought his words unkind but had found out later on that he wasn’t lying when he said that, and now she even liked it when he called her little bird.

  “Ser? Why do you laugh?” the foreigner asked as Sansa nibbled at a piece of bread.

  “Well, if I’d wanted you to know, I’d have told you,” Sandor told the captain.

  “Hmmm!” the Lyseni looked a little annoyed. “Well… I do not claim that it will not be a hard journey, make no mistake, kind ser,” he went on, clearly thinking Sandor had laughed at his words of having an easy voyage. “Even now some of Salladhor’s ships may be sinking around Bravos, or Oldtown, or the Jade Sea, but Pentos is not so very far away. I trust the gods will give us good speed and strong sails.”

  “How come you are in this place then, instead of heading to Pentos?” he rasped.

  “Ahh, for love, dear friend. You know Pia the innkeeper’s daughter, yes? Well, she and my brother Icuaris happen to be quite fond of each other for some time now. But poor Icuaris was in one of Saan’s ships that went to Dragonstone, so my dear brother bid me come here to reassure Pia he is all right in case he could not bring his sweet person here… But we strike for Pentos tomorrow before midday, as it happens.”

  The silence that met those words went on and on and on. Clearly Sandor had been playing a game of words with this foreigner, but for Sansa it didn’t matter anymore. Not even the stew tasted good now…

  “I’ll sleep on it,” Sandor finally replied curtly.

  The Lyseni smiled. “Just so, to be sure. Well, if you feel like coming along then you must be ready before midday, ser knight.”

  “What’s your name?” Sandor asked him.

  “I, ser? I have the honor of being Captain Iytus Mollaris.”

  Sansa was sure Sandor was going to reply that he didn’t see the honor in that, but instead said, “And I have the honor to be Ser Byan Flowers.”

  It was hard for Sansa not staring then. Has he just called himself a knight? It was simply too overwhelming. 

  “My pleasure, Ser Byan..! And may I ask the name of your charming companion?”

  “Jeyne,” Sansa blurted out, remembering the first girl of lesser birth that she could think of, her dearest friend Jeyne Poole. “Jeyne, _m’lord_.”

  Sandor grunted that it was time for them to get some sleep, and left the table. Sansa stood up as well, feeling light-headed. They went up stairs and when Sansa entered their room he said, “We’ll talk in a moment. I have to go check on Stranger. Lock the door.”

  Sansa did as she was told. She listened to Sandor’s heavy retreating footsteps down the stairs and let out a long contained sigh. She rested against the big wooden door and tried to stop herself from trembling. _What where they supposed to do?_ They couldn’t go back now that they’d been assured by both the dead archer and the captain that the Lannisters had won. It was hard not to weep then. She closed her eyes and tried to _think_ , but all her thoughts passed through her head so quickly that nothing made sense. When she opened her eyes she realized for the first time that the room was almost in darkness. She took the oil lamp hung from the hook by the door, and went to light all the candles in the room. When she was done her hands had at last almost stopped shaking. She looked around her and noticed that the murky dirty water from their bath had been removed and now the tub stood clean and empty once again. Sandor had laid their things in a corner of the room, so she went to see if her jewelry box was still hidden inside Stranger’s saddle. As far as she could see nothing had been molested in their absence.

  She turned her gaze upon the tinny round table by the fireplace and noticed for the first time a little old mirror. She took it and gazed at her reflection. She looked gaunt but beautiful considering all she’d lived through. She sighed again and left the mirror and the oil lamp on the table. She walked over to the water basin to clean her face and wash her hands and mouth and unfastened the dagger from the folds of her dress with numb fingers. Her hands felt stiff and awkward as they touched the cold blade. Sansa put the dagger on the table and went to the window to look upon the sea, hugging herself. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks was imposing. Despite her situation she could still appreciate the beauty of the ocean.

  After a long moment she walked over to one of the chairs and sat down, untied her braid, and waited…

  But she didn’t have to wait long. In less than no time Sandor was finally back, knocking for her to let him in. She opened the door and saw his usual scowl back in place, as his mouth twitched. He was holding his wineskin, Sansa saw with a little dismay.

  The instant he barred the door for the night Sandor cursed strongly, “Seven blasted bloody buggering hells!”

  He walked by her and kicked one of the chairs by the table. Sansa backed away a little, his rage making her confused but not really afraid of being alone with the Hound cursing and angrily pacing the room, seething. What she was really wondering at how he had managed to appear composed up until now.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked quietly, looking at the floor. Coming here had been _his_ idea, yet she would never blame him for trying his best to protect her. Sandor had honestly thought this would be the best course of action, both because the Riverlands were in so much turmoil at the moment, receiving the real brunt of the war, and also because it would be the road the Lannisters would least expect them to take. “We can’t go back. Joffrey won.”

  Sandor let out a long sigh and ran a hand through his black hair. His mouth began to twitch then. “And the worst thing is we heard the same from that dead archer we found in the woods. So that’s two idiots crowing the same tale. And we can’t go south now that we know the Tyrells joined the Lannisters… Even if we managed to get to the Dornish Marches, there is no point seeking refuge there.”

  “Because of Myrcella?”

  “Bugger Myrcella, little bird,” he said before he drank from his skin, long and deep. “Because if word got to any buggering dornishman that a Clegane was in their lands, they would form a line just for a chance to get to torture me themselves.”

  “What have you got to do with the Dornish?”

  “Not me. Gregor,” he rasped. “Everyone knows he was the one to rape and kill Elia Martell after killing her son. One of his pets killed her daughter.”

  Sansa shivered. She had heard rumors about the terrible deeds that had happened when the Mad King died and the Lannisters sacked King’s Landing, but she was stunned by yet another dark tale of the Mountain’s atrocities.

  “So do you think the Captain was honest in everything he said to us?” she asked haltingly.

  “Bugger me if I know… But _some_ of the things he said were true enough. He looked me right in the eyes the whole time. That at least takes courage, and I’ll be damned if he didn’t lie but he knew all along that we were thinking about coming along with them.”

  Sansa met his gaze after that. “But _how_ could he _know_?”

  The Hound chuckled sourly. “I’m sure he is aware there are other villages outside the outskirts of the Kingswood, little bird. And yet we decided to go into the one with a ship in sight.”

  “Do you think he recognized you?”

  “He has a pretty good idea of who I am, but if he is right and I am King Joffrey’s sworn shield, then he must figure I have some coin about me. You heard him go on and on about making that pirate he works for rich across the narrow sea. In other words he was hinting that he will allow us to go with them, but only if we pay him well. He may suspect that I’m fleeing and that he may be the only chance for me to escape.”

  Just then they heard the sailors coming upstairs for the night to their rooms, trying to hush down some of the loud noise a couple of them were making. Sansa saw Sandor tense at that and grab the pommel of his sword, silently instructing her to get away from the door. But after a few heartbeats the sound of the doors closing was heard and silence descended on the little inn, except for the sound of the waves outside.

  Sansa deemed it safe to resume their conversation again. “But… _but we can’t go across the narrow sea_! It’s so far away and my family… When the only word that reaches them concerning me is that I escaped the Lannisters, what will they do?”

  “Little enough,” he rasped. “Your mother will probably fret about it the most, but your kingly brother will do the same he did when you were a hostage: nothing. He’ll exchange peace terms with Cersei and the Imp and now I guess their father, but to no avail.”

  Some part of Sansa wanted to slap him for speaking so horribly about her family, but the other part had to admit he was right. _A hound will die for you, but never lie to you_ , she remembered. It was just so hard to believe that Robb would do nothing to save her. Before she could speak he drank some more wine and went on.

  “What’s more little bird, the Lannisters never admitted that your sister managed to escape them. The day they imprisoned your father her dancing master fought off Meryn Trant while she escaped, and was never seen since. Word never reached them of her afterwards. Maybe she died or maybe she’s still living, but whatever became of her, since the day she tossed Joffrey’s pretty sword into the Trident, he’s hated her, and you mostly because of her. You don’t want to think on what he’ll do to you if he gets his hands on you again, do you?”

  “No,” she whispered, trembling. She had no idea what had become of Arya. At first she’d gathered that she’d managed to take the ship home after her father fell from grace, but now she wasn’t so sure. And even if she had, Theon would have likely killed her along with their little brothers.

  “The good thing is that they won’t let word spread that they’ve lost you as well, so those flamboyant idiots from Lys won’t know who _you_ are, I’d wager,” Sandor went on.

 “But… I won’t even be able to write a letter to my mother explaining what’s become of me.”

  “Which is for the best. Letters get lost or stolen and seen by the wrong eyes.”  He sat down on the edge of the bed and rested his arms on his knees. “I don’t want to leave either, little bird. I have business with my brother,” his voice trailed off.

  _Of course_ , she thought. _If for some reason the ship never made it to Pentos or either he or Gregor died before they could meet again, Sandor would be unable to revenge get revenge on his brother for what he did to him_. But after being told of one of the Mountain that Rides’ crimes moments ago, Sansa was afraid of that meeting happening. Not because she might lose her protector, but because she might lose her friend _. He may be one of the best fighters in the realm, but I don’t think it would be the best thing if he faced his brother_.

  As she stared at him sitting quietly on the bed, scowling at the fire in the hearth, his mind clearly on very brooding thoughts, she knew she couldn’t ask him to give up his longing of revenge for her.

  “I understand,” she said, breaking the silence once more. “It would be unspeakable of me to ask you to forget your brother and the horrible thing he did to you just so you can look after me. I would never do that.”

  Sandor looked up at her and finally said, “It’s not just for me I want to kill him for, you know. Nor because what he did to our feeble mockery of a father… I have to make him pay for our little sister.”

  Sansa’s mind went still. _Little sister?_ She blinked at him, unconsciously wrinkling her brow as she tried to recall if she’d ever heard anything about this. She hadn’t. “You had a little sister?”

  Sandor nodded, his shoulders slumped. “Arwyn. She was younger than me, and a tough little girl. My mother died some months after giving birth to her. But before she died she summoned me to her sickbed and told me that I was meant to look after Arwyn if one day she wasn’t around. That I was to protect her. My mother was sick but she wasn’t blind. She knew the sort of man she was married to and the sort of son she had in Gregor. Arwyn became my friend and companion as we grew up under Gregor’s shadow… She liked songs and dogs and horses and was loved by everyone at our keep. She was no beauty but she brought happiness into the grim life one lived with Gregor as your brother. Arwyn was five years old when he shoved my face into the burning coals. While my father told lies to cover up his heir’s doings, my sister, young as she was, sat by my bed every day while I recovered. That is, until the day Gregor came back from the Rock…” As he spoke his voice was raw and harsh as steel on stone. “Our father had sent him to the knight he squired for, after what he did to me, but one morning he came back for a couple of days. Half an hour later our old septa told me Arwyn was dead. She was crying and I couldn’t learn much from her but I _knew_ Gregor had something to do with it. Even in the pain I was in I thrashed and screamed and managed to get outside my bedroom, demanding to know what had happened… I didn’t make it to the end of the hall before I collapsed, crying. I wasn’t strong enough after that to be there when they laid her to rest in our family’s graveyard. But I watched from a window, cursing the world and myself for not being there when she needed me. She was there when I lay recovering from my burns, but I couldn’t be there for her fucking burial..!” He stopped then to take a breath. When he continued Sansa could hear how much it pained him to remember all of this in his ragged breathing. “Gregor didn’t stay longer than he had to, but before he went back to Casterly Rock he came to my room and told me how he’d killed Arwyn. Apparently she hadn’t been allowed to see him after what he did to me, but she finally met him when he returned home at the top of some stairs and started kicking and hitting him with her little fists. Gregor told me he got annoyed by that, so without saying anything he hit her hard across the face and she went stumbling backwards down the stairs. By the time she hit the ground her neck was broken… I cursed and raged at him then, stumbling off my bed, trying to get at him so I could kill him some way or another, but he only laughed and left me there on the floor. I wouldn’t even be surprised if he’s killed his two wives like that… Some years later he made my father go hunting with him and some of his friends. That was the last time I saw the old man alive. _Ser_ Gregor didn’t admit to finishing _him_ off, just said it was some hunting accident. He inherited everything then but I wasn’t there to see it. I left my bleak _home_ to join the Lannisters as a sworn shield and I’ve never been back. Not even to lay some flowers at Arwyn’s grave in her memory.”

  Sansa could feel tears freely running down her cheeks by now. She had no words. It was just too horrible to be true. She longed with all her heart that both the old and the new gods should curse Gregor Clegane to burn in some hell forever. _To kill a little girl of five..! His own sister_!

  Sandor didn’t shed a tear, but Sansa suspected that was because he’d already spent so many over the years. She felt so much for him then. _To have finally managed to find some little solace in a life only to have it snatched away, not only with Gregor disfiguring his face, but also killing his dearest sister_. The way he felt he’d been unable to save Arwyn was just the way she had felt as she watched Ser Illyn chop off father’s her head.  It was too much. She couldn’t bear to see Sandor sitting on the bed, brooding and tormenting himself like that anymore. He hadn’t even looked at her face as he told her about Arwyn. But the fact that she was the only person he’d told the truth about his misfortunes to touched her beyond words. Emboldened by his trust and the fact that she understood what he was feeling, without thinking about it twice she fell to her knees in front of him and grabbed his huge hand in her two small ones.

  It was as if Sandor was forcibly woken from a dream. He stared at her, then at their hands, then at her again. Sansa suddenly recollected the night long ago of her father’s tourney when he’d told her about his face, though she knew this had been a memory just as painful as the one of his scars. _But we’ve both come such a very long way from that night_ , she reflected…

  She knelt silently before him trying so hard to find the right words of comfort she so desperately wanted to say to him, but instead only one word escaped her lips; but it was the right word.

  “Sandor…”

  His grey eyes blinked at her then. She’d never called him by his first name before. She couldn’t recall calling any man by their first name before. _He hasn’t called me by my name either_. But that word came to her so mouth so easily just then… she could feel the boundaries of formality breaking beyond repair now.

  “I don’t know why anyone should be meant to have to suffer so much,” she finally said. “I could never begin to imagine what it must have felt to have your own brother do such horrible things- and your poor sister! Really I… I am truly sorry. I wish you could have been spared so much pain, but now I can see better why you’ve been so angry since I’ve meet you, and I was wrong to judge you for it. But… but maybe I understand at least a little of your pain. When Joffrey ordered my father’s head to be brought to him I was unable to stop him, and I couldn’t even look away when Ser Illyn killed my father. At least you were spared that… So you see? We both know what it means to be unable to stop others from hurting those we love. I don’t know if it’s my place to say it, but you shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened to your sister. You were just a little boy after all. Kill… kill your brother yes, but I don’t think Arwyn would have wanted you to blame yourself for not being there when Gregor killed her…” she finally ended.

  Sandor just grunted to let her know he’d heard her, gently disentangled his hand from hers and stood up. He walked over to the window, his back to her.

  Sansa remained on the floor by the foot of the bed, remembering the afternoon before the battle when she’d visited Maegor’s sept to pray. She had prayed for Sandor, she recalled. She had prayed to the Mother to save him from the battle and to gentle the rage inside him. The Mother had seen fit to answer her prayers in the most unexpected of ways. She had done more than just spare Sandor though…

  _If we have to flee across the narrow sea Sandor will be risking his chance of revenging his father and sister_. She took a deep breath and said, “You don’t believe there are true knights, but at the very least you must admit that you are true. And that to me is more valuable than knighthood now.”

 

  Sandor could only look at her with growing admiration. _The little bird is finally learning her lessons, is she?_ He’d told her once dogs didn’t lie, so he gathered that’s what she meant now that she called him _true_. It was so unbelievable that he didn’t know if he should laugh or scowl.

  In the end he did neither. He was stunned when the proper little lady called him by his name. Her reaction to Arwyn’s story had surprised him and for the first time in memory he had been unable to do or say anything when she tried to comfort him… He knew she had understood why it was so important for him to kill his fucking brother, but she had also entrusted herself into his care. At least he wasn’t cursing himself for a drunken buggering fool this time for telling her about Arwyn the way he had when he told her of his burns long ago.

  They were in trouble now. He’d honestly thought coming here was the best choice they had, and now they couldn’t go back, could they? But the thought of leaving Westeros when someone else might end up killing Gregor made him ball his hands into fists. He had been waiting to kill Gregor his whole life. Was the little bird worth risking the chance of ever getting to do that?

  Even as he thought this, a voice inside him answered. _You know she is. Gregor has taken away your family and your face, your hopes and your dreams_. _He’s_ _taken everything, but_ _you know you would never let him take Sansa_. He had meant it when he swore to keep her safe, and no matter how long he tried to find another way out of this mess, the only solution he could see was taking the blasted ship to Pentos. _We would be away for about a month, and before we know it we’ll find that ship to White Harbor or the fucking Wall_. The Night’s Watch made him remember her bastard brother and the Watch’s words: _The Night’s Watch takes no_ _parts_. _She would be risking too much even if we do this. The Young Wolf may even lose the war_ … but he didn’t like to think about that now. If that came to be, he would worry about how to keep the little bird safe _then_. It’s not like they would be giving up their lives here in Westeros if they went for a time to Pentos. They just had to ensure they returned to Westeros before anything changed… The more he thought about going to the Free Cities to hide for a couple of weeks the better he liked it. It would be harder for anyone to know them there; to know he was a deserter, and to recognize Sansa, the daughter of Eddard Stark. If the bloody King in the North died then she would be the only Stark living; the only chance the north would have to rebuild itself. Too many people would want her dead. By all rights they should be on the first ship out of the Seven Kingdoms.

  He walked over to her and helped her to her feet as gently as he could. She looked up at him, looking so trustful and beautiful and he knew he was lost beyond reason. She was the most precious thing in his life and he would never let any harm come to her ever again if he could help it. His hands closed around her arms and he said, “Little bird, listen to me. I have nothing to offer you but my sword, my shield, Stranger and me.”

  She made to interrupt him, but he hushed her up. “They’re all afraid of me here, but that’s just because they know who I am, but maybe in the Free Cities we could hide, couldn’t we? The word will spread soon enough, even here, that there’s a price for us. I really think that the best we can do is go to Pentos. There’s a better chance of staying alive over there where no one knows us and won’t trouble us. The moment we get there we’ll go looking for a ship that’s sailing north. If there’s none for White Harbor then one for the Wall. I know you want your family, but right now you have to think of yourself, not them. They’re safe at Riverrun and the Westerlands are surrounded by their armies. You’re alone but for me and too close to the lion’s clutches still. I don’t care about your mother or your kingly brother. I care about _you_ being safe and I think it will be easier to keep you that way across the narrow sea for now. The Lannisters won’t expect you’re in the Free Cities, I’m sure of it. We have to let them all play the game for a time, and maybe by the time we arrive at White Harbor your brother will have won the war and I’ll be free to go and kill Gregor.”

  Apparently he had been tightening his grip on her as he went on and on, because she lowered her eyes and whispered, “Please… m-my arms.”

  Sandor released her immediately. He saw her gulp. “And if Robb doesn’t win?”

  “I don’t know…” he admitted in his rough rasp of a voice. “Hopefully we will never have to worry about that…”

  For a moment she didn’t seem to know what to say, but finally Sansa looked up at him and Sandor caught a full view of the wolf in her.

  “I… I _know_ you care about keeping me safe, Sandor. You’ve done a pretty good job of it, and would still do so in Pentos. And I _do_ know that Robb is fighting a war, and even if I do get back to them, it won’t be like it used to be. As you said, I have to think about me for now, and I trust you with knowing what’s best for me… I just don’t want you to feel compelled to go to another land far away when your brother…”

  Her voice trailed off, but Sandor knew what she meant. _When your brother is still free and unpunished for the crimes he’s done to you and so many others_.

  “Little bird,” he gulped, trying to keep all the emotions and thoughts that ran through him clear. “My brother’s day will come, I’ll make sure of it. But I won’t just leave you at your mercy so that I can run off to find Gregor, nor will I take you anywhere near him. So you see, there are other choices I could make, but I want to keep the promise I made to you before I send him to the deepest of hells.”

  He couldn’t find any better way to put it. He desperately hoped she understood and would not press the issue, because he didn’t want to keep on thinking about his fucking brother Gregor at this moment.

  Sansa smiled. “Very well, if you are really sure of this then I’m very glad because the truth is, I don’t think I could bear it if you weren’t here. _I need you_.”

  _Those_ words made him stare wide-eyed at her. How the hell was he supposed to restrain himself from kissing her when she was looking at him with so much trust and peace! _Fuck me_ , he thought. Her words only made it worse. He was her faithful dog now and forever.

  Something in him made him lift his hand to grab a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. Sansa didn’t recoil from his touch as he twisted her auburn lock between his fingers. Her lips parted slightly then. Sandor had never thought he would be willing to damn his soul to the deepest hell for a _woman_ , but that had been before he met Sansa Stark. _Sansa_. _The pretty little bird_. Should he risk it? She’d already done it twice. _Bugger it all_ , he thought quickly before he finally called her by her first name too.

  “Sansa…”

  A tear ran down her cheek to join the already dried ones from when he’d told her about Arwyn, but he was certain this one wasn’t because he had upset her. She smiled at him and laughed softly, blushing. Despite knowing he would look uglier, he couldn’t help but genuinely smile at her in return.

 

  Sansa realized her heart had been beating very fast, and that her cheeks had turned red, but none of it mattered. Sandor Clegane, as he towered over her, was smiling at her in a way she would never have thought possible of him. How silly she had been to feel frightened of his face! She could see beyond the scars now, for which she was grateful. And when he’d called her by her name… well, her tummy felt funny, but in a good way. Somehow something had changed and the thought of crossing the narrow sea didn’t seem as daunting as it had moments ago. She had nowhere else to go but aboard that ship, but so long as Sandor was with her she told herself all would be well. And it had been strange, yet nice to see him so agitated and emotional as he tried to make her see that Pentos was their best course for now…. _There is much reason in what he says_ , she admitted.

  She didn’t know if it was his protection that she clung to, or due to his being her only friend, but she knew he was not a bad man. _Not really._ _He’s just been lost and confused and angry all his life_ … He had talked about there being no true knights and even compared himself to a butcher and people as meat, telling her that the weak should die and get out of the way. But he had protected her going which went against what he said he believed in… The gods, both old and new, had sent her the Hound to save her, but maybe since he didn’t believe in them, they had sent him to her as well so she could convince him otherwise..? After all, she had prayed for him before the battle.

  He was brutal still, but gentle with her. He was the Hound to the world, but he was Sandor with her now.

  “You said you would like to join Robb… After you’ve killed The Mountain, you’ll go back North with us, won’t you?”

  Sandor looked at her long and hard, considering. “Promise me you will,” she said.

  Sandor’s grin was a little sour. “If I kill Gregor, Clegane’s Keep and all its glory will pass to me. You want me to give that up so I can go live up north and freeze my arse off?”

  Sansa hadn’t remembered Clegane Keep at all and what killing the Mountain would mean. “Well…” she said, thinking. “I didn’t think you liked the place after what you’ve just told me. But of course that if you prefer your father’s lands over serving another king no one could blame you.”

  “My grandfather’s lands,” he corrected her.

  Sansa recalled the story he’d told her about his family’s banner. “You liked your grandfather very much, didn’t you? You must tell me more about him one day.”

  Sandor avoided her eyes. “He was more like a father to me than my old man ever was… Yes, little bird, I liked him.”

  Sansa was glad that there had been another person Sandor had loved as a child, but somehow she felt this was upsetting him, so she said the first thing that came to her mind to take his mind off dark troubling memories.

  “You threatened to kill me if I ever told anyone your secret the night of my father’s tourney… I suppose that threat still counts, does it not?” she asked sarcastically.

  Sandor pulled his hand away as he snorted loudly. “You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Then it doesn’t count anymore.”

  They looked at each other for a long moment before Sandor went for his wineskin by the bed to take a drink.

  “It’s too bloody good, isn’t it?”

  “What is?”

  “To have the ship named after a fucking summer bird.”

  They laughed together.

  “But not _as_ good as hearing you calling yourself a knight!”

  That wiped the smile from his face quick enough. “I don’t see how that’s funny.”

  “Oh yes you do! I _never_ thought I’d hear those words coming out of your mouth.”

  “Drop it, little bird,” he warned her.

  She was more amused than angry now, so she didn’t push the issue further.

  “It’s late. Tomorrow we will have to wake up early. Best if you get some sleep.”

  “I was thinking… maybe I could ask Pia for some needle and thread to sew some of my jewelry and your winnings into our clothes so that they are better hidden.”

  “That’s a fine notion but do it later. I won’t have you ruining your eyes with this candlelight.”

  He did have apoint, she thought briefly as she brushed away her tears. Sansa sat on the bed and started unlacing her boots. “Sandor, can I ask you something?

  He grinned. “It’s nice you’ve finally found the right way to call me. No more sers or my lords…”

  She smiled shyly at that. “If my lady mother ever found out about us sharing a bed, or Robb, or anyone else… Well, I don’t think they would understand it... Could you please- ?”

  “Little bird, your mother would probably be more concerned about her daughter going across the narrow sea with the Hound, but your family won’t ever hear it from me,” he told her as he took off his mailshirt and swordbelt, before hanging them on a peg by the wall.

  Sansa believed him. She got under the covers and though the bed wasn’t very comfortable, after nights and days on the hard ground it felt nice.

  Sandor got into bed as well wearing his tunic and breeches, but she saw that he kept his sword and dagger just by his side. He crossed his arms beneath his head and said, “I suppose we ought to keep changing our names from now on to mislead. It won’t do us a damn good if the Lannisters send a Faceless or a Sorrowful Man after _me_ , but I doubt if they would even bother to send a hired knife…”

  Sansa turned to look at Sandor in the dark. She wanted to ask him jestingly if he was planning on taking more knight names, but instead said, “I can speak a little High Valyrian.”

  Sandor took another drink from the skin. “I’m sure we speak the same amount, little bird. I had a maester too.”

  Sansa was surprised.

  “Good,” she replied. “That means we won’t be _as_ lost as we might have been once we arrive in Pentos.”

  Sandor grunted and closed his eyes, but after some moments Sansa could tell by his breathing that he still wasn’t asleep.

  “Sandor?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you my sworn shield now?”

  He turned his head to get a better look at her. Sansa could see the whites of his eyes shining in the darkness. “I am, little bird.”

  She smiled widely and hoped Sandor could see it through the darkness of the room. “Good. I’ve never had one before, but I would not want anybody else,” she admitted with a sincere smile on her face. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you all for your kind reviews & for reading this fic! I hope you enjoy this chapter and please review once more :D  
> Thanks!


	7. Aboard the Summer Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimers:  
> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brillian work of GRRM.  
> \- The title of the fic is inspired by the song Dante's Prayer.  
> *My betas: Thank you forever and ever! For giving me the best advice and feedback: gingerbeer48, swiftsnowmane, vargasse & onborrowedwings!! :D  
> *The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.

  The next morning as Sansa stood looking up at the ship that was to take her across the sea, she found herself remembering evenings gathered around the fire with her brothers and sister listening to Old Nan tell her stories. Some of the time her tales would be about boys who stowed away on trading galleys and sailed off to adventures.

  _Am I sailing now off to an adventure too_? Sansa wondered _. Is it even right to call this an adventure when I am fleeing for my life?_

  She mused over how different her fate had turned out to be. Not even in a thousand years could she have imagined when she first arrived at King’s Landing that she would leave it fleeing for her life. That instead of becoming Joffrey’s queen she would choose to run away from him with the help of the man who had previously been known as the king’s shield…

  But even before that things hadn’t been as she’d once hoped, starting with the death of Lady and that dreadful incident between Arya and Joffrey, her once golden prince; she’d thought him a hero come again, just like the the Dragonknight, and she would’ve been his Queen Naerys. As she left Winterfell, Sansa had been sure her own song was just beginning, but the dreadful changes that her life had taken had dashed the hopes of that too, making her fear that when she left her home up north, her song has ended.  Now that she was free again she had started to wonder if her song was not yet still very much alive…

  _The Summer Bird_ was a trading galley just like in the stories, but it had always been Arya and her brothers more than Sansa the ones who wished for something like this. Still, though she was terribly nervous, she couldn’t deny that she was also feeling excited about it.

  _At least the ship doesn’t look in such a bad state_ , she admitted. It was actually quite pretty. The wooden figurehead at the bow was carved in the shape of a bird whose feathers she could only remember seeing on the extravagant wardrobe that the exiled prince of the Summer Isles Jalabhar Xho had shown off at court, and the hull was striped in the Lysene fashion. Sansa liked it. Ships look much prettier with so much color on them. The more practical things the ship possessed were two banks of oars and a gilded prow in bronze, along with three tall masts with furled sails.

  Some of the sailors were at present loading some casks from the inn’s storeroom up the plank. Sandor had told her that he had gathered they were using the inn as a place to hide some of the goods they came upon. The other men were either already sitting with the oars or running around the forecastle or shouting at their mates by the rail.

  It was nearly time to go now but Sansa was ready. After waking up at the hour of dawn and having breakfast Sandor had announced that he was going to check on Stranger. She would’ve liked to go with him so she could spend a little more time with the fierce horse as Sandor had advised her, but Sansa had decided to take that time to go and pray at the little sept she had spied last night. It had just been a little dismal one room sept, even more modest than the one at Winterfell that Father had built for Mother. Instead of statues or carved faces, the gods were visible only as charcoal paintings on the walls, and there wasn’t even a septon. A woman outside the sept had told her that Septon Umbrick only visited the village twice a year. Apparently the man was one of those wandering septons who walked through a specific region, spreading the Faith to the smallfolk.

  In the end she supposed it was for the best that there was no septon around. _If there had been I would have had to lie to a holy man since I wouldn’t have been able to even tell him my name_. Sansa only wished there had been a godswood too. She needed her father’s gods just as much as her lady mother’s now.

  The sept had been empty and had a dirty floor, but she had knelt all the same in front of the drawn figures of the gods and prayed long and hard.

  Sansa had prayed to all of them, even the Stranger. She prayed to the Father to judge her case and ensure that they had a safe journey; she prayed to the Mother to watch over _her_ mother and let her not despair if she found out that her daughter had disappeared, and to also watch over Robb and even Arya if she was still alive; she also prayed to the Mother to watch over her and Sandor with the same care and love; She prayed to the Maiden to keep her safe from the sailors and to give her strength so that she could be brave for herself and Sandor; she prayed to the Crone to give her a happy peaceful future for her when the war was over, a life where she was safe back in Winterfell with what was left of her family… and Sandor, if he so wished it; she prayed then to the Warrior to give courage and strength to Sandor at all times so that he could keep both of them safe, and to Robb so that he would win against all his foes. She felt the dagger hidden inside her cloak and prayed that there would never be a need for her to use it, but that if there was, she would be brave enough to do what was required; she prayed to the Smith to protect the _Summer Bird_ and to put the world of men to right; and when the time came to pray to the Stranger, Sansa asked him to allow Sandor to break free from all his rage and cruelness, and to allow them to see Westeros once again… she even prayed for Sandor’s dark horse and asked for forgiveness on behalf of Sandor for having mocked the gods with naming his horse like that; and finally she had thanked all of them for hearing her prayers and sending Sandor to her.

  As a seagull flew across the skies now Sansa looked up at it, wondering if the bird had ever seen what wonders lay across the narrow sea, when Sandor gripped her shoulder.

  “Stranger’s ready. It’ll be hell to get him onto the ship, but I think he’ll be all right.”

  Sansa noticed he was swearing the dark traveler’s cloak he’d bought from the inn-keeper.

  “I’m glad. And did the inn-keeper have hay and oats to sell for him?”

  Sandor nodded. “What about you? Did you find whatever you were looking for with your gods?”

  “I did,” she replied. “And it would be kind of you not to mock the gods when we are about to dare autumn storms.”

  He laughed at her for that and crossed his arms in front of his wide chest. “I would’ve thought you’d be more afraid of getting stolen by pirates from the Stepstones or by a kraken from the deeps over autumn storms.”

  _I am scared of those things too_ , she thought. But as she was about to reply to Sandor that he was being mean, Captain Iytus appeared by their side. He was garbed in quite a flamboyant style, in fine velvet boots with a matching tunic, and a feather on his hat.

  “All ready, my friends?” 

  “Yes,” was all Sandor rasped in reply.

  Sansa nodded and smiled kindly at the captain. If she was supposed to remain silent, she could at least be polite and try to make up for Sandor’s short and brusque answers.

  And apparently Captain Iytus didn’t seem to mind Sandor’s rudeness so much, for he just clapped his hands together and said, “So… are you sure your horse won’t be too much to handle aboard a ship, my friend? He seems to be quite a fierce beast, and I’m afraid none of my men will dare risk having their heads bitten off by him.”

  “I would’ve thought my word as a knight would be enough,” Sandor said, sounding irritated, but Sansa had a deep suspicion that he was actually jesting with the Lyseni.

  “Oh of course! Take no offense, Ser Byman! I meant none. A knight’s honor is known to be above question around the world… It’s just that, well, I was just with your horse and I wanted to give him an apple, but he almost chewed off my hand.”

  Sandor laughed sincerely and openly, and gave the lean tall man a pat on the back. “Better not try anything else with him in the future.”

  “Yes, advice I shall now indeed follow..!”

  “How long do you think the journey will be likely to last?” Sandor wondered.

  “It would depend on many things, Ser friend. Besides the autumn storms there are times of dead calm which may delay us if there is no wind to move us. We shall only be sailing by day.”

  “How wide is it?” she asked, unable to help herself.

  “About as long as the Wall up north... Not that long compared to other oceans, I think,” Sandor answered.

  “I should think that it’ll take us between six days to a fortnight,” the captain provided.

  “That doesn’t seem so long,” she sighed in relief.

  “Do not worry about it, charming Jeyne… Now, I think that if you two are ready we are now free to go!”

  It did turn out a difficult task to get Stranger on board, but Sandor demonstrated a patience none of the sailors would’ve thought possible in a man like him, and with soothing whispers he calmed the horse as best he could, enough to get him down to the ship’s room that was used as a stable and farm, where there were some chickens and ducklings awaiting their fate to be eaten for dinner one of these days.

  When it was Sansa’s turn to go up the plank, she didn’t like it any better. The plank was not as wide as she would have liked, and it was all crooked and splintery. She was sure she would end up falling before she reached the ship, but Sandor was there to offer her his hand and arm as support. In the end he almost lifted her into the forecastle.

  As she stood there by Sandor’s side, preparing to leave the Seven Kingdoms Sansa could feel the cold wind caressing the loose strands that had managed to detach themselves from her braid. She grabbed the rail for support and closed her eyes, whispering ever so gently _Lady_.  

  “Sandor?”

  “Yes little bird?”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Everything scares the little bird, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m serious.”

  He chuckled softly at her vexed expression.

  “I know you are, but I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. You’re stronger than you know.”

  Her tummy was starting to flutter nervously now that she started to feel the ship moving in the morning tide, so she swallowed her dignity and said, “Could you please hold me?”

  She didn’t want to look at his face then, afraid that he would only mock her some more. She kept her eyes rooted to the beautiful horizon, but after a moment Sandor put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

  “We’ll both have to be dead for Westeros for a while, but we’ll be back, Sansa. We’ll be back.”

  And she believed him. _Everything will be fine somehow_ , she told herself turning her skin had turned from porcelain, to ivory, to steel.

  She drew up her hood against the wind wondering what awaited her far across the sea. Their lives would hang on the balance of their decisions from now on…

 

  Their cabin was damp and cold and not as big a room as they would have liked, but Sansa seldom left it. Long before they were well out to the sea Sansa had unfortunately fallen sick, and remained so for most of the voyage: even more sick with the terror of drowning the three times wild storms came about. Sandor too had been worried; that she would catch a fever, but she didn’t.

  Whenever the captain paid their cabin a visit he would apologize for not having any rich food to offer.

  “Saan and some other captains have quails in honey and snails to eat, but poor Iytus and his crew is left with chickens and hogs.”

  Sansa thanked him for his thoughtfulness but was not in a state to have eaten any rich food even if she’d wanted to. The movement of the ship was so dizzying that her head hurt her and her tummy felt queasy. Sansa could only drink some milk and honey at the start, and after that only water most of the time. She had to stay abed on the old featherbed that had been laid upon the narrow sleeping shelf.

  Sandor had it worse than her though. He would stay with her most of the time, offering her a bucket whenever she felt like retching and holding her hand when the storm was upon them, or just guarding her from the possibility of sailors trying to have their way with her. But he had to leave her more than once a day to get fresh air or get them their food or to go check on Stranger since the horse had to be fed and watered too. By night he had to sleep on a hammock which wasn’t nearly big enough for him. But the worst thing he said was that the cabin was just too low and cramped, so he didn’t have that much space to stretch his legs in. Sansa noticed once was that he never brought any wine to the cabin though for some reason. If he drank, and she was sure he did, he did it somewhere else, and thankfully when the world turned upside down with the storms and the thunder, there were no wineskins or bottles in their cabin. One morning when she woke up feeling slightly better she found Sandor still sleeping in the hammock and just lay there looking at him for a long time. She’d told afterwards him that they ought to switch since she could fit better in the hammock than he ever would, while Sandor could stretch a bit more in the little bunk, but he had only laughed at that and told her that she was silly.

  Ever since fleeing the Red Keep, Sandor’s subtle acts of kindness had never ceased to amaze her. Whether it was helping her off the saddle or comforting her as she cried, or trying to warm her as much as possible the night the storm had turned the whole world cold in the Kingswood, he seemed to want to keep her as comfortable as he could. _And now this_ ; giving her the most comfortable spot in their cabin, and even holding her as she retched… If she hadn’t been too seasick she would have died of shame right then and there the first time it had occurred.

  The few times Sansa had managed to climb the various ladders to the forecastle she had not found it all together unpleasant. She saw dolphins swimming along the ship more than once, and they just about took Sansa’s breath away as she stood excitedly with her arm though Sandor’s, while the _Summer Bird_ sailed deeper into the blue.

 

  After about twelve days at sea the voyage finally ended with the cabin boy being the only loss they suffered. When the captain came down to their cabin one afternoon to tell them they would be arriving in Pentos in less than an hour, Sandor took the bundle they’d made of the discarded garments she’d worn all the way from King’s Landing to _The_ _Stormed King_ inn, up to the forecastle and threw it overboard.

  They had to take down the sails and depend on oars alone as they entered the large bay. Sansa stood by the aft of the ship then, still a little dizzy but feeling stronger than she had in the past days now that they had finally arrived safely at Pentos. It was still late afternoon when the _Summer Bird_ moored at the quay. Though she had no notion what awaited them in this far away distant land, Sansa could not seem to take her eyes off the city.

  Her first view of it was incredible. Even from afar it was obvious that this was unlike any city back in Westeros. Enormous manses could be seen atop rolling green hills surrounding Pentos, as well as big round shining gold domes. Sansa could see brick towers everywhere. She smiled up at Sandor then and said, “We made it!”

  He had smiled in return and said, “I’ll give the captain something to keep him quiet about us. The word may spread anyway, but it’s best if we don’t start making more enemies so soon after escaping the last ones.”

  When the ship was finally anchored beside a high-masted swan ship from the Summer Isles and another merchant galley off-loading its supplies, Sansa had to stay with the captain beside the ship while Sandor went to fetch Stranger, but she didn’t mind. She liked the captain very much and would be a little sad to part with him. He could have slit Sandor’s throat as they were crossing the narrow sea and done terrible things to her, but instead he’d been courteous to her and she just _knew_ he’d also grown on Sandor, though the latter would deny it of course where she too mention it.

  Regardless of Captain Iytus, Sansa was glad to be back on solid land. The world was finally steady and she thought she would be able to keep down some food at long last, though nothing heavy.

  While she waited she took a good look about her. Everything was just so strange to her eyes, she felt just like she had on the day she’d first seen King’s Landing. There were mostly sailors at the port at this hour, but the lowborn and highborn she saw were both garbed so differently to what Sansa was accustomed that she could not help but stare, even though she knew it was unladylike. Even the air smelled different; it was full of spices, and quite hot. She could feel her woolen clothes starting to stick to her skin as the tepid air ran salty fingers through her hair.

  _I must look as haggard as a corpse, and smell of vomit. I desperately need a bath and a change of clothes, though I suppose that will have to wait till tomorrow_.

  As Sandor finally got Stranger off the plank, Sansa shook the dirt off her gown and smiled at the sight of the big horse. It was good to see the destrier had survived the journey, since the loss of him would have been a great loss to his master.

  Following Stranger, the sailors of the _Summer Bird_ began to unload their cargo. Captain Iytus looked at them with a little sadness in those clear blue eyes of his, and said, “I fear my friends that we must say out farewells quite hastily since I’ve already caught a scent of the custom inspectors nearby, and we can’t have them meeting you unless you want to be put through many questions.”

  “We wouldn’t,” Sandor admitted. “We would also be grateful for your silence in ever having meeting us, Captain Mollaris.”

  “Iytus please… But to be sure, I can of course keep quiet if my dear Ser Byan so wishes!”

  “I do.”

  “Very well, but before parting let me just say that it has been a pleasure knowing you, Ser,” the Lyseni captain replied, bowing his head in Sandor’s direction. He then took Sansa’s hand and kissed it. “And you as well, charming Jeyne.”

  “You’re most kind, Captain Mollaris” she replied truthfully.

  “Not at all, not at all…” He clapped his hands together thrice and a sailor appeared with three wineskins at his side. “Good ser knight, I wish to give you some skins of the fine Lyseni wine you praised back at the _Stormed King_ so you can remember that you have a friend in the world which you can reach for whenever you feel like it.”

  Sandor took the wineskins and grumbled his thanks, but his voice betrayed him. He was very pleased by the gift.

  After that they shook hands with him and paid him his due before leaving him with his ship and his sailors and his Lyseni wine.

  Sandor took Stranger’s reins and had his other hand resting on the pommel of his sword, ready to unsheathe it at any moment. Sansa walked by him, taking in the streets they crossed and the people who passed them by. Some gave them curious glances. Others eyed her insolently and some women even stared at Sandor in fear. There were no other people who looked as if they had also come from Westeros that she could see. Sandor was the only man in mail and armor, and his face and height attracted attention, even with his hood up.

  “Sandor, couldn’t we please stop and get some food?”

  “Of course, little bird, but nothing heavy. Here, drink some wine. It’ll help,” he said, passing her one of the new wineskins.

  Since they had no idea where they should they go to seek food and lodgings, Sandor stopped a fat man with a cart full of fruits and bought her something to eat. She ate a blood orange while Sandor bought a pear and asked the man if he spoke the Common Tongue. He didn’t, so they moved on, and on their third try they found a man who understand them and told them where to find what Sansa supposed would be the Free Cities’ version of an inn.

  Between two yellow houses with tile roofs they found what they were looking for. A building four stories and with white washed walls, old yet still apparently capable of standing another half a century, it had many signs above the door in different tongues, and one of them was written in the Common Tongue, though it only read INN. No name, just inn. The stables were at the back of the building beside a stone courtyard and they went there first to tie Stranger up. The young man who tended to the horses had dusky color skin, yellow hair, and grey eyes and apparently understood well enough what was expected of him. Sandor took the saddle off Stranger with its bag containing their few possessions were kept and led the way to the front of the building. 

  Once inside the common room Sansa’s eyes grew wide. The room was larger than the Queen’s Ballroom back at the Red Keep, and many private alcoves and tables were occupied by all sorts of people. Sailors, some parents with children, two old women gossiping away, and a bunch of old men playing some type of boar game. The light of the common room was very dim, and there was a large stairway which led to the upper floors.

  Sandor took off his hood as a man Sansa assumed was the innkeeper walked towards them. He had gray wings in his brown thinning hair, was short and had flabby arms.

  The man took one look at them and knew they were from Westeros. His eyes stayed on Sandor’s face though, and Sansa was afraid he would not like what he saw there and order them out.

  “Seven Kingdoms?” he asked finally in a thick barely understandable accent.

  “Yes. We seek a good room with a big bed and a bathtub and we have already put our horse in the stables.”

  Sansa noticed that Sandor said _our_ horse, not _my_ horse. She liked it.

  The man scratched his head. “It’ll be four for the horse and looking after it, two for the baths and seven for the room…. How long do you intend to stay?”

  Sandor shrugged.

  “You pay half now and half later then. You’ll need a big bed by the size of you. I have a room free on the third landing. Come, I’ll show you.”

  He led them to the third floor of the inn and said, “Think this will be fine.”

  Sandor nodded and gave the man his Westesori silver. The man bit the stag and said, “All well. Now I go back,” he informed them as he handed Sandor the key to the room. “I’ll send my sons up with the water for the bath if you’ll be wanting it now.”

  She nodded vigorously at that, and Sandor barked at the man’s back, “Make that hot water!”

  “Yes! Yes!” they heard the innkeeper grumbling as he went back downstairs after he’d given Sandor the key to the room.

  Sansa was pleasantly surprised that their room was not like the ones from the first floor which had looked terribly small, and cramped and cheap. _This_ room was large and airy and even had a small balcony and a high ceiling. The bed was big and Sansa was glad to see that the mattress and pillows were stuffed with feathers, not straw. The bed looked a bit old but snug. There was also a tall mirror in the corner along with a round table and three chairs and a chamber pot. There was even a fireplace, curtains on the windows and towels and a jug with a bowl that served for the water basin. None of it seemed to be of very good quality, but it would serve nicely for the present.

  Sansa walked outside towards the balcony and smiled. _Is this really happening?_ She went back to the room and saw Sandor putting down the saddle and bag by a corner.

  “Do you like it?” Sandor asked.

  Her smile spread from ear to ear. “Yes, I do. It’s lovely. Thank you so much for this, Sandor.”

  His eyes and mouth smiled, pleasantly surprised. “And yet they aren’t what you’re accustomed to, little bird.”

  “True, but after the Kingswood and that ship this is just perfect..!”

  Sandor looked at her strangely, a little unbelieving but ended up shrugging and looking around the room. “I think it’ll do for the time we have to stay here. We’ll go down to the docks tomorrow to see if there’s a ship-”

  He broke off as the innkeepers’s sons brought in pails of steaming water into the room. The sons were men older than Sandor, but they looked very much alike so Sansa suspected they were twins.

  They looked on as the tub was filled. When the sons left after lighting up the candles and fireplace Sansa looked up at Sandor timidly.

  He seemed to understand after a moment. “Bar the door and keep your dagger at hand. Take your bath while I go downstairs and have some proper dinner… Do you want anything?”

  “No thank you. Maybe tomorrow when I’ve rested and I’m strong again.”

  He grunted and repeated his order. “Bar the door. I’ll unlock it when I come back.”

  “But you’ll knock first, won’t you?”

  If he entered the room while she was still bathing she knew she would just die. Sandor’s rough laugh was her answer.

  When he was gone and Sansa had entered the tub she sighed deeply in comfort. She would desperately need a brush to comb her hair back into curls afterwards, but it would have to wait until tomorrow. The tub was facing the open balcony, so as she bathed she saw the night sky appear, filled with thousands of shinning bright stars. _My mother and Robb could be looking at the same stars right now_ , she pondered as she rubbed her back. She grinned. _If they only knew where I was!_

  It was still hard to believe that they’d made it this far. And Sandor was being so nice to her, making sure she got hot water for her much needed bath and spending all his winnings on keeping her out of harm’s way.

  _I ought to do something for him_. The question was what..?

  When Sandor came back she had thought of something that she was sure would please him very much.

  “No trouble while I was gone?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “Was the food any good?” she asked as he closed the door.

  “I had roasted pig and wine,” was all he said as he walked over to the water basin to clean his mouth. 

  Sansa was thinking if she ought to tell him now but before she could do anything he rasped, “I saw a well and a water pump down by the courtyard. I’m going to go take a bath.”

  “Oh, sure, all right.” Now that she was once again washed and clean she did think it best for Sandor to wash up a bit too.

  He started unbuckling the straps of his armor, while Sansa just stood there watching him. Sansa noticed that it was a little hard to do it alone. Sandor obviously needed help, but he wasn’t asking her for any.

  Sansa forced her feet to take her over to stand next to him. He stopped and looked down at her, frowning slightly.

  “I want to help remove your armor,” she said, and it sounded almost like a whisper.

  He froze on the spot and quickly looked at her. When he saw that she didn’t look away he made a sound that was almost a laugh. “I didn’t ask for your help… And,” he added, cocking his head sideways. “What do you know of it? Have you ever taken off a man’s armor?”

  She bit her lip, blushing. “No,” she admitted, “but it can’t be _that_ hard. I’ve seen it done many times before, in Winterfell and King’s Landing.”

  Sandor looked down at her and said nothing. She could not quite read what the look in his eyes meant, but she nonetheless took his silence for approval, so taking a deep breath she moved behind him and helped him unbuckle the straps there. She helped him push his armor over his shoulders, along with his breastplate and chainmail. Sansa was starting to feel a little fluttering all the way from her throat to her tummy as she realized that along the way Sandor had stopped helping her out. When all that was left were his tunic and his breeches and boots she finally met his eyes and said, “Sandor?”

  “Yes little bird?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Please don’t take too long… I… I wanted…-”

  “Out with it, little bird. What is it?”

  “I… I have a surprise for you when you come back,” she finally managed to say.

  “What surprise?” he asked suspiciously, and she saw his eyes observe the room once more trying to see if the surprise was there somewhere.

  “If I tell you it won’t be a surprise any longer,” she pointed out, smiling.

  His mouth twitched then but she didn’t mind it anymore. In truth, she wasn’t bothered by his face these days, and ever since leaving King’s Landing his eyes had shown a little less rage, so it wasn’t hard now to keep his gaze as he stood imposingly tall before her.

  He gave her a nod and a noise that sounded like a grunt, and in the blink of an eye he was out the door after he’d put his sword belt on once more. Perhaps it was because he didn’t scare her anymore, or perhaps it was because she wanted to show him some kindness in return for everything he’d done for her so far, but for whatever reason, Sansa suddenly found herself running after him. He heard her when he was three steps down the stairwell, and he turned to look at her dashing to his side across the hallway.

  “What now?” he rasped, a little irritated. Their heads where almost on the same level at present she noticed, but she still had to tip toe in order to move closer.

  “Just this,” she replied and before Sandor could move away or stop her, she leaned down, put a hand on his broad shoulder to steady herself and gave his unscarred cheek a quick kiss.

  Sandor’s eyes grew wide and she heard him draw in a gasp.

  When she took a step back Sansa saw all the hard lines of his face soften as his eyes roamed over her face, her lips, her hair, her eyes, her breasts…

  “Thank you so much for everything… for keeping your promise” she said so low she wasn’t even sure Sandor had heard it. With that she turned around and quickly walked back to their room, closing the door.

 

  Sandor was almost afraid to open the door to the bedroom now that he was here. _Seven hells_ , he thought. _What have I gotten myself into?_

  He was washed and well fed for the first time in weeks and yet he was feeling very uneasy. It wasn’t so much because they were in a strange land he didn’t fucking know his way around. It was that kiss and the surprise Sansa has mentioned. He’d wondered all the times as he took his bath what it would be. She had nothing of value but her jewels in her possession _. If she dares offer me a buggering gold ring or a gemstone necklace she is really in for it_! Hadn’t she realized that he wasn’t doing this for gold? _But then why are you doing this_? A voice inside him asked. _Bugger me if I know_ , he thought, and shook his head.

  He’d been standing outside their room for too bloody long now. He took a deep breath and unlocked the door, forgetting to knock this time.

  He saw at once that Sansa was outside in the balcony looking up at the sky, waiting. As he locked the door he noticed too that the little bird had already readied the blankets and pillows for tonight’s rest.

  Sandor took off his sword belt and left it in a chair as he made his way to stand behind Sansa outside. The night breeze was cold yet not chilly, and it was stirring Sansa’s wet auburn hair. He noticed that her hands were holding on to the handrail before he placed his own hands protectively on her shoulders.

  Sansa obviously must have heard him come in because he didn’t startle her with his touch as he had wanted to, but the fact that she didn’t shrug him off unsettled him in a good way.

  “Can you believe we’re really here?” she said in a quiet awed voice.

  “No,” he answered, when what he was really thinking was that he couldn’t believe that he was holding on to her like this, and that she seemed willing. “Did I take too long?”

  She shook her head and turned around to face him. _Fuck me, she is fucking pure perfection_. Little drops from the bath fell across her face and ran down her cheeks. One ran over her full lips and he went hard with the thought of licking it off her _. Stop it. Don’t go down that road_. But he couldn’t help it when she was looking up at him like that. He felt himself go even harder as he thought about when she had started acting like this around him. _When did she stopped being afraid of me and begin to look at my face without fear..?_ Sandor grabbed her chin and drew her closer to him to see what she would do. “I want my surprise now, little bird.”

  “Very well…” she said, taking the hand that held her chin. She stepped around him and drew him into the room. He gulped wondering if she was going to give him what he was thinking.

  Sansa let go off his hand then and said, “Sit down if you will.”

  He obeyed like the good dog he was and sat on the bed. Maybe she meant for him to sit on a chair, but if she had she didn’t say anything.

  She looked a little nervous again, as she looked down at her clasped hands. “You said once that you would have a song from me whether I will it or not, remember?”

  Sandor could only give her a small nod in answer. _She can’t possibly know what sort of song you meant that time_. Suddenly he recalled the night of the battle when he had taken the Mother’s Hymn from her at blade point. _That_ made him look down at his feet. If he looked into her eyes and saw accusation there he didn’t know what he would do.

  His shame seemed to give her courage. “Well, you’ve already taken a song from me… but this I’ll sing more than willingly… _In Maidenpool our story starts_ …”

  Sandor looked up at Sansa just in time before she began to sing in that beautiful sweet voice of her the tale of Florian and Jonquil. _A fool and his cunt_. Sandor would’ve laughed if he wasn’t stunned. _Well, you certainly must look like a bloody fool yourself, sitting here on the bed with your mouth slightly open_.

  Sansa Stark walked to the bed and sat beside him, the song now in the line where Jonquil says, _You are no knight, I know you well. Many a night I’ve heard in my father’s hall the tale of the man whose armor is made of motley. Her words only served to hearten poor Florian who shamelessly proclaimed, I am, my lady! As great a fool as ever lived, and as great a knight as well… Jonquil’s sweet laugh started then as she replied that never before had she heard of such a thing. But dear homely Florian won over by now called out, Sweet lady, all men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned…_

  Sansa went on into the verses that spoke of the dragon whose fire melted down the eternal stone where a giant had been locked in as a curse for thousands of years. Sandor knew the end of the story, but never before had those lines made him feel what he was feeling right now. When she reached the part of the final swordfight where Florian dies to save fair Jonquil’s life, Sandor felt as if he had fallen under a spell. He had never felt enchanted before, but by the Seven, he was enchanted by Sansa Stark too bloody much! Her voice was stripping away the armor he’d carried without complaint for years, and the more she sang, the more vulnerable Sandor felt.

  _And so this tale has reached its end with tears and broken hearts, for never again was there seen in the world a love like the one fair Jonquil had, nor has there ever been seen again a man as honorable as the motley knight_ …

 

  When Sansa’s voice trailed off into the darkness, the candles having almost burned out now, she could still see Sandor’s face well since she had sat down right beside him. They had looked into each other’s eyes as she sang her favorite song, and though there were no tears Sansa could see Sandor’s eyes glittering. _It must be his favorite song as well though he wouldn’t admit it if I asked him_. He’d asked for _this_ song more than once.

  The way Sandor was looking at her at present was just… _right_. She felt drawn to him for some strange reason, but she was afraid that if she moved or said the wrong thing the magic of the moment would be lost. So she waited for him to say or do something.

  Sansa couldn’t be sure how long they sat there in silence, but finally Sandor leaned over and for a moment Sansa was sure he was going to kiss her. And the realization that she didn’t want to move away scared her just as much as the new sensations she was feeling in her body, her soul and her heart.

  But he didn’t kiss her. At least not in the way Sansa had been certain that he would when she saw his eyes lingering a bit too long on her mouth. Sandor pressed his lips to her forehead as he placed one of his hands on the back of her head, pressing her gently towards him.

  Sandor rested his lips on her skin for a long moment, and when he slowly leaned back Sansa tilted her head, trying to understand what exactly had just happened and how a man like Sandor could be so gentle with a silly little bird like her…

  Then she felt the fingers of his hand slightly, gently brushing her fingers.

  In a low voice while their heads were still too close to each other Sandor said, “I knew I’d make you sing for me one day, little bird.”

  She knew he hadn’t, at least not with her willingly participating, but she smiled all the same. She couldn’t help it. Neither could Sandor it seemed for he returned her smile in a manner just as genuine as her own... She didn’t even feel the need to hear him say thank you. She had wanted to sing for him and now that she had and he’d liked it there was nothing wrong anymore… _At least not for tonight_.

  “I think it’s time we got some rest,” she finally said.

  “I think you’re right, Sansa.”

  The way he said her name made her blush, though she hoped it was too dark for him to notice.

  She got under the covers while he crossed to the other side of the bed. The burned side of his face was facing her this time, but that didn’t stop her from actually cuddling closer when Sandor pulled the blankets over himself. He looked down at her as she timidly reached out for his hand. Sandor brought their entwined hands up to his face and kissed her hand too. It was so snug and warm under the covers that Sansa was already drifting off when she heard Sandor wishing her good night.

  “Night,” she mumbled in reply before sleep claimed her…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading & reviewing!! :D I Cannot wait to hear your thoughs for this chapter!


	8. Pentos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM  
> *My betas: To gingerbeer48 and onborrowedwings, the way you’ve helped me with the development of the characters and with the spelling have served to make this fic what it is today: you are truly the best betas ever! // And to swiftsnowmane and vargasse, I hope you’re holidays were great and if from time to time you can spare a moment to reading this story, please let me know what you think of it and how things are going for Sansa and Sandor!! :)  
> *The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.

  It was the sound of laughter that woke him the following morning. One moment he had thought himself deeply asleep and the next he could hear people laughing as they passed the room outside in the hallway… Some part of him remained alert and tense since this had been his way of sleeping for years, unless he passed out from the wine… but the other part told him that there was no danger. That he should go back to rest since for the first time in a very long time he had been having a sweet, unperturbed sleep. There had been neither nightmares nor dreams, only some long needed rest. By now though he was becoming aware of his surroundings, and as day’s light streamed through the window Sandor blinked back and tried to stifle a gasp as he realized at last in what position he’d been sleeping. _Gods…_

  Sansa’s back was to him, but that hadn’t stopped him from tangling his limbs in between hers overnight. His left leg was thrown over hers, and he had a tight hold of her tiny waist with his left arm. The little bird was still very much asleep though, or else she would have noticed that the arm she had stretched above her head was on top of the arm he had put under the pillow, and their hands were entwined. His cock was hard against her backside, pressing against her cheeks, but Sansa slept on, her soft breathing the only sound now breaking the silence.

  _Bloody hells! What the fuck do I do now?_ Sandor thought. They had gotten so intertwined during the night that if he tried to pry himself away from her she would certainly wake up. _And then what? Will she think that you were trying to force yourself on her while she slept or will she believe the truth?_ He supposed the best idea was to stay where he was and hope that he went back to sleep. _If we manage to separate then maybe neither of us will notice it_ …

  Sansa’s warmth was beginning to allure his senses by now. He had never slept in a bed with a woman before. Not once had the whores he’d had interested him enough to stay the night even if they had allowed it, and the last night the little bird and he had been in Westeros, Sandor had been convinced that the Lyseni sailors might do them harm, so he had not slept one fucking minute. He had laid down in the same bed as Sansa’s, but long after she had fallen asleep he had watched her wide awake, as the long night hours passed by, while he made sure that the bloody foreigners didn’t try to steal Sansa or kill him, or both…

  Yet last night he had allowed himself some time to rest, and whether it was because he had sorely needed it or because sleeping in a bed with Sansa felt _right_ , he had been at peace.

  Sandor raised his head a little bit to catch a glance of Sansa. Her red hair was everywhere, but it smelled so sweet that he rested his scarred cheek on it. His burned skin could not feel much, yet he imagined how soft her hair must be that it took all his will power to not put his twitching cock to use. _Bugger it_ , he thought as he softly pressed his scarred lips on Sansa’s white neck. A suffocating feeling took hold of him. He had never felt so bloody good in his whole life. Sandor couldn’t even believe this turn of events. Last night she had kissed his cheek and willingly sung to him and had allowed him to kiss her forehead after that! His feelings for her had existed for some time, changing from annoyance to whatever it was he felt now. He didn’t know if he was in love with her yet, but he did care for her as he hadn’t even dared even think he was capable of… _She’s going to be my bloody ruin_ , he thought sighing _. And I couldn’t care less. I wish she was_ my _little bird so much it fucking hurts_ … Reluctantly he broke the kiss and caught a glimpse of Sansa’s face. He would’ve bet the little bird was still lost in her dreams, but there was a very small smile on her face now, and that was encouragement enough to let her breathing lull him back to sleep for some hours at least. It looked to be still dawn, and they had both bloody well earned the right to sleep late for a couple of days.

  But as he tried to bring Sansa a little closer to him he felt his manhood twitching in his breeches as he slid further between her legs. _There better be a sodding ship sailing north soon for her sake!_ He didn’t know how he would be able to keep himself on hold night after night after sharing a bed with Sansa. _Least of all if she keeps singing little songs to me and trying to take my armor off as she smiles at me the way she’s been doing lately_ … _Bloody_ _crazy little bird. Now that she can look at my face_ _I’m more at her mercy than she ever was at mine._

  Grunting as he burrowed his face in the pillow and her hair, unsure as to whether he liked Sansa not fearing him at all due to what was happening with him, Sandor closed his eyes and went back to sleep in a manner of moments.

  When he opened his eyes again Sansa was waking up too, but he noticed that he managed to somehow remove himself from her body. He sighed deeply in relief, yet he was not so certain if Sansa had woken up oblivious to the position they had been in due to the fact that she avoided looking at him as much as possible as they got up from bed, ready to start the day and their search for a ship…

  Things didn’t turn out as planned though. Whether the gods were having a go at them, or whether it was just plain bad luck, a fucking week later there was not a single blasted ship going north. The closest they came to finding a ship sailing near that freezing hell was to Gulltown, and what was the point of going _there_? It was too risky to set foot somewhere that wasn’t the North where he was sure to be recognized. _No, if we have to let the world know where we are, it must better be in White Harbor or Eastwatch-by-the-fucking-frozen-Sea!_

  Yet as things were looking so far, they were likelier going to find a ship to the former since most sailors were afraid of risking the wild storms up North.

  The lack of results in their daily inquiries by the docks would’ve had Sandor feeling apprehensive that the little bird would star blaming him for being in the Free Cities rather than at Riverrun with her mother, but to his utter amazement with every passing day Sansa seemed to grow happier and happier. _That’s because Pentos is a fucking heaven for her after being locked away in the Red Keep for so long…_

  Neither of them could remember very well the lessons they’d had of Low or High Valyrian, but that didn’t seem to hinder the little bird’s awe of Pentos. Whether they were walking by the market or a grand manse, a temple or the harbor, a palace or a garden, Sansa would chirp on and on about how pretty everything was and how exciting it felt to discover a new place all by themselves. _Look at how that dome shines against the sun! It’s made of pure gold!_ She would exclaim, or _Not even Myrcella’s gardens were as beautiful as these ones are..!_ _That temple looks a thousand times grander than the Queen’s Ballroom back at the Red Keep!_

  Even the food was a buggering wonder to her. Once Sandor had been unable to stop laughing when Sansa asked for a second serving of sausages, only to go pea green when he remarked that it was funny she liked dog meat so much…

  To Sandor the city was nice enough, but what he was enjoying most (however much he tried to make fun of it) was the little bird’s company and the way she reacted to the simplest pleasures. It made him feel younger just to see her smile and laugh and sing every day without a care in the world.

  Sandor couldn’t help but notice that things were changing between them when they were alone in their room back at the inn after the second morning of their stay. Many little things were bringing them closer together, but having never experienced them before Sandor could only frown and brood about what the fuck it all meant. Even the most meaningless things had him wondering as he remembered them over and over in his mind the way Sansa went about humming to herself this song or that song. Whenever she genuinely and sincerely smiled at him across the table, or asked him what he thought about some buggering lace on a stand in some market, or just admired herself in the mirror only to catch him staring and not looking away, well… he was on edge all the time. He was content with only admiring her growing body and character, and with imagining how it would be like to kiss her sweet mouth….

  However confused Sansa’s actions left him, those days were the first in years where he’d let his guard down and could remember being really happy. The last time he could remember sleeping for hours without cares or worries or nightmares had been when he was a child, yet sharing a bed with Sansa was proving to be a great cure for that…

  Sandor had been at first apprehensive that Sansa would blame him for coming to a place which was providing no means of going back home, but he’d soon found out that been bloody wrong about that! The little bird was showing an unnerving utter lack of worry for not finding a ship.

 

\--

 

  There weren’t any godswoods or heart trees to be found in Pentos. Sansa had looked for them the first day they’d been in Essos, but that turned out to be a wild hope in this side of the Narrow Sea. She would have given much to sit with her father’s gods for a little while, but had to content herself with visiting the Sept-Beyond-the-Sea. The Seven had answered her prayers and for that she dutifully thanked them in ardent prayer during all of the first afternoon she spent in the Free City, Sandor waiting outside all the time. Yet now that she prayed for a ship to take them north, the gods kept their silence…

  It was very disconcerting that there wasn’t a single ship heading north. _Surely we’ll find one soon enough_ , Sansa reasoned. _We’ve only been here a little more than a week. Maybe sailors just fear to cross the autumn storms up by The Bite or the Bay of Seals..?_  

  By this time next week they might be aboard a ship again. The thought of the ordeal crossing the sea was, and of repeating it soon, made her go white as milk. But knowing that it was coming she had decided to enjoy the present as much as she could, and that turned out to be an easy task. Pentos was such a beautiful city that Sansa almost felt like a little girl again; the girl she’d been when she’d first arrived at King’s Landing. The experience of seeing the city through the eyes of a commoner allowed her to know and grow fond of Pentos in a way Lady Sansa Stark would have never been allowed to enjoy.

  It was difficult not being too familiarized with the language, but Pentos was close enough to Westeros that almost all of the time Sandor managed to get their point across to the Pentoshi. Apart from things like that, Pentos was a completely new and exciting world. One Sansa would never have believed could exist. The very air smelled different. It was so rich and exhilarating, and the way women dressed up was so stirring! Transparent silks covered their bodies, leaving arms and belly and even legs at times unconcealed. Some wore glittering masks that gave an air of some dark mystery, and Sansa blushed at the thought of how she would look in them. They had the coin but she was practical enough to restrain herself from buying garments she would not have a chance to wear here, and could not even dream of wearing in Westeros. The lingering wish for them remained though, and even more so after Sansa caught a dark haired, purple eyed beauty undressing Sandor with her eyes without a bit of shame. Through her light clothes Sansa could see she was buxom and curvy and beautiful. It pleased her to see a woman like that noticing Sandor’s muscled warrior body just as much as it made her sullen when Sandor noticed the woman’s intent stare too and had communicated _something_ through his eyes to her.

  She had asked Sandor innocently what he thought of the woman, and he’d replied gruffly that she was a bed slave.

  Sansa had arched her brows at _that_! “But there is no slavery in the Free Cities anymore! It was outlawed back in the days when-”

  Sandor had snorted at her reaction and rasped, “What do you think those poxy fools with the spiked hats over there by that manse’s gates are then?”

  “Guards?”

  “They’re bloody eunuchs and slaves, little bird. And not just Unsullied. I’ve counted more slaves here in the past few days than rats in the Red Keep’s dungeons.”

  “Unsullied?” she questioned. She’d heard the term before, but she remembered the famous Unsullied to be lean and strong, not chubby and plump like those guards were.

  “I think the real Unsullied can be bought in Astapor at Slaver’s Bay. The Free Cities mostly have to be content to be guarded by the likes of these, if they care about paying the high price of getting the real deal…”

  The one thing Sandor didn’t seem to like was the large Red God’s temple. As they’d crossed it Sandor had grumbled about fucking buggering fools who deserved to be dipped in wildfire since they loved it so much.

  “I think Lord Stannis burned the godswood at Storm’s End as an offering to The Lord of Light. The talk was that his red priestess made him do it,” she had commented.

  “Bugger Stannis and his priestess. Bugger these red priests. Bugger their temples and bugger their bloody fires!” he growled passionately.

  “If Stannis had won I would’ve liked it if he’d burned the Sept of Baelor,” she had exclaimed then.

  At that Sandor had looked at her with a little wonder and awe. There was something in his eyes that reminded her of his expression when he’d stopped her from killing Joffrey for showing her Father his sort of _mercy_ …

  Not even Sandor could’ve denied the beauty of the magister’s manses and the palaces though. Sansa had imagined herself as the mistress of one of them, or what it would be like to be invited to one of them for a dinner or a ball, but Sandor said Lord Varys had many rich friends in the Free Cities, so there the matter stood.

  The greatest place of all was The Prince of Pentos’s palace. It stood atop a rising green hill overlooking the sea much like the Red Keep perched atop Aegon’s High Hill. Yet Sansa had no desire to go there. A spice merchant had spied her buying a brush and new boots in the market as Sandor went to have Stranger shoed, and remarked that she was beautiful enough to become the next Fair Maid to the prince of Pentos. She’d felt honored at that, but the woman who was selling her the brush warned her about what happened to the Fair Maid and the Prince should they displease the Pentoshi.

  Those days were filled with leisure; days where winter wasn’t yet coming and they were free. Sansa thought she had forgotten what it was like to be careless and happy every day, but Sandor helped her remember. And she had a suspicion that she was helping him out too in the same way.

  After waking up and breaking their fast, they would go to the docks to inquire about the ships. As the day faded away they would eat at little shops with the oddest foods Sansa had ever seen, only to spend their afternoons in different gardens, taking afternoon naps or talking about life. So far Sansa’s favorite spot were the Gardens of Vente, filled with little ponds and streams and even a small waterfall, and where tumbling ruins of old empires still lingered on, reminding the world that they had once been alive. Their nights would be spent walking through the streets and markets, for Pentos came alive when the moon and stars appeared, and darkness covered the skies. During a festival the city had in honor of one of its foreign gods, Sansa entered her first wine skin shop where Sandor allowed her to drink more than she’d ever had. At first it made her head to spin around in joy and delight, but she woke up with the most terrible of pains hammering her hear unmercifully. It didn’t help either when Sandor couldn’t stop laughing at her. Those days saw Sansa growing up and growing into a more beautiful person both within and without. Those days, too, broke the hard wall Sandor had created around himself for years. It fell away in Pentos completely, _and all thanks to me, his little bird…_ Sansa thought with pride.   

  As she looked at the sun vanishing to the west behind the high walls of the city, sitting outside in their room’s balcony one afternoon, her elbows propped up against the balustrade and her chin resting on her hands, Sansa sighed, content.

  Down in the streets children were playing and running around while mothers went about their business carrying baskets of food for later. Men strutted up and down the street never paying any mind to the foreigner girl some floors up at the inn who found them so interesting. Sansa could only see the top of the many houses and buildings, but even if some looked dreadfully old she decided that she like the landscape after all. The harbor could be seen to the distance, along with even more manses atop the nearby hills. _It is such a lovely view!_

  The beauty of the city could not blind her to the change that had recently taken hold of her. _What is happening to me? I hardly know myself these_ _days_... Many of the values and formalities she’d been raised to obey didn’t seem so important anymore. Little Sansa Stark would’ve been shocked to learn Jenny of Oldstones had shared a bed with the Prince of Dragonflies before they were married, but Sansa these days didn’t seem to mind so much whether the innkeeper or the other guests at the inn thought Sandor was either her lover or her husband or something else. No one seemed to care who they were or where had they come from, and if they did, they kept their questions to themselves. _Maybe that’s one of the reasons why I like it here. Nothing anyone thinks of you really matters and so it can’t hurt you_. She had also changed in other important regards though. Not a fortnight ago all she could think of was going to Riverrun to Robb and her lady mother, but now, though she still wished for that with all her heart, the idea of delaying the journey home for a little while was taking shape in her mind… To her this was beginning to feel like a long holiday in which she would be able to recover her strength.

  Sandor was gone at present. He’d asked if she wanted to come along to the blacksmith’s house down the street to take out the dents from his armor. She’d begged to stay in her rooms instead. She needed time on her own to think, and the view from the balcony oddly enough helped her with that.

  _How can I tell him that I wouldn’t mind staying in Essos for a couple of months?_ If there had been a ship for them it would’ve been different. But there wasn’t and Sansa was starting to suspect that maybe that was the Seven’s way of telling her that it was better if she remained hidden in the East for some time. _Not for very long, just enough to get to know these strange lands a little better. We can’t stay in Pentos for very long anyways. Robb will have surely won by the time we get back, and if the Mountain that Rides is dead by then… well, so much for the better._ She wasn’t sure it would be as good for Sandor as he seemed to think to kill his brother. _The gods hate kinslayers after_ _all_.

  She knew there were other cities far into the east, but which one would be the best to head to, she still couldn’t decide. Sansa just knew that it would be nice to get to see the world so she could tell her grandchildren one day about all the wonders of Essos. _After all, we’re already here_. Why would I want to be stuck in White Harbor or even the Wall waiting for the war to come to an end when I can do the same thing here?

Enemy forces attacking White Harbor was always a possibility, _as well as wildings descending on the Wall, if we were to make it that far_ …

  Yet if she was honest with herself a big part of her change of mind was Joffrey and he hell she had lived through thanks to the Lannisters. The memories of being a captive were still too new to stop fearing the threat of turning into a captive again _. I wouldn’t bear it one more time. Not after I’ve tasted what freedom can be like, and Sandor has helped me remember happiness_ …

  And so not all of her reasons had to with painful memories. The thought of getting to know the East with Sandor was a very exciting prospect as well. He knew how to get along even in a place he’d never been to, and his mere presence was so menacing to others that Sansa felt safe. Every time they walked side by side they would get stares and whispers, but she couldn’t care less- which was odd since she had always liked to gossip, yet not be the person who provoked it. _Here it doesn’t matter that we walk side by side as equals and even live together of sorts_ … _I’m sure this change of heart has something to do with the way Sandor has been behaving_. The man she’d first met as the frightening Hound was turning into a pale memory with every passing hour, and _Sandor_ Clegane was becoming something very dear to her. It was very confusing to think on exactly what this new regard of him could mean, but she knew that once she was back with Robb she would fall on her knees and beg him to let Sandor remain as her sworn shield if need be. She knew that this growing relationship with Sandor as her protector was unique and was even more special because it was just something which’s depth was known to them and them alone.

  She chuckled kindly when she recalled the day when she’d caught Sandor staring at her intently as she brushed her hair. There had been something in his eyes which she’d never seen in a man before, and for some reason she would never know she’d asked him if he would like to brush her hair himself. Regretting her words the moment they left her mouth, Sansa braced herself for Sandor’s mocking and swearing and laughs, but just as she was going to tell him it was a jest, he’d surprised her. He had stood up and walked over to her, taking the brush from her hand and gently brushing out her hair for the night. Those strange kind moments had made her feel so many warm things as she recalled her childhood and her mother sending away her maids so she could brush her hair herself. The process had been carried out in complete silence, and when Sandor was done they had looked at each other without blinking for the longest of times. Sansa felt Sandor was waiting for her to break up in laughter, but she hadn’t felt like doing that. It was pleasant to think that the fierce Hound enjoyed little things like combing out her hair. _Back in King’s Landing I had handmaidens to see to my every want and need: to comb my hair and help me wash and dress me up as they went to report to the queen about me_. _Well_ , she concluded after a moment, _those things are nice but having Sandor brushing my hair is bette_ r. The gesture had been repeated several times in the last couple of days. He would always silently walk over to her and take the brush from her un-protesting yield, and then he would begin…

  Sansa couldn’t remember feeling so safe and happy and calmed, but there was something more to what was happening with Sandor these days. She only had to look at his burned face to have a wide smile on her own, and she mused she was on her way to becoming his squire: so much did she love helping him get into and out of his armor.

  It had all began on the second morning they’d been in Pentos, and she felt as if the change had somehow been brought about by _her_ …

  The singing of the birds and the rising city had woken her from the sweet dream she’d been having. As she opened her eyes she saw that apart from having thrown her arm across Sandor’s chest sometime in the night, she was mere inches away from his face. The scarred side faced her, but she wasn’t startled by such close proximity as she once would’ve been not too long ago. Everything of Sandor was familiar to her now, and yet as she watched him sleeping Sansa thought she’d never seen him looking so utterly peaceful. He was breathing deeply and was lying backwards, and she liked the way her hand went up and down atop his chest as he breathed. _He desperately needs to have his hair cut and trim that beard._ His black hair tumbled across his cheek, hiding one eye.

  She’d grown bold enough by then to push the strand of hair away from his face. It didn’t seem right that it hide his burns somehow. As her fingers gently brushed it back, her hand delicately traced the path from his jawbone, down his neck to his collar bone. Sansa didn’t move for a very long time, perfectly content with just taking his features in for some reason she couldn’t even begin to explain to herself. A warm small smile spread across her face as she then gazed at the little crowfeet that settled near Sandor’s eyes whenever he grunted or frowned in his sleep. She had never liked stables because of their stinky smell, but resting here besides Sandor, she could smell his unique scent, combined with the smells of horse and sweat; but now these musky scents were quite appealing. _What an improvement from the night we ran away_ , she thought, and it wasn’t meant unkindly.

  When he began to stir she didn’t pretend to be asleep or hurriedly move away. She waited for him to open his eyes, blink up at the ceiling and yawn before he finally looked at her. His intense glare didn’t make her feel embarrassed that he’d caught her looking at him. And why would he? _Isn’t that what he’s always wanted?_ Now both of them stared into the other’s face, long and hard without speaking.

  An eternity or a minute later, Sansa was not so sure which one it was, she broke the silence by saying, “Your eyes remind me of Winterfell…”

  Sandor raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re a crazy little bird, did you know that?” he growled, surprised.

  “Mayhaps…,” she whispered, smiling. “Good morrow by the way. Are you well?”

  He grunted in assent. “I’m well enough.”

  The look in his eyes was now intriguing but he shook his head and cursed before passing his hand over his face and asking her how she was.

  “Happy,” she replied truthfully and simply. “Though… Sandor, could you please let me do something for you?”

  He made a sound that was almost a laugh. “There’s no need for you to do anything for me, Sansa.”

  “There isn’t,” she agreed slowly. “But I _want_ to.”

  “And what would that be I wonder?” His voice sounded like two wood saws grinding together.

  “To let me cut your hair. It’s grown so long.”

  Sandor broke out into a harsh laugh. “The little bird wants to be a barber now, does she?”

  She wrinkled her brow at him. “It’s true that I’ve never done it before, but I am sure I won’t be so bad at it!”

  Half an hour later Sandor grudgingly sat by the fireplace, and though his mouth kept on twitching, the look on his face was one of amusement as she tried to measure just where would be a nice enough place for her to start cutting. His dagger was very sharp, but she didn’t cut herself once. Sansa couldn’t help but smile when she found two grey hairs at the back of his head. She considered plucking them out, but something steadied her hand. _They don’t look so bad.._. When she had to fuss about near his jaw his beard tickled her, so she said, “After I’m done you ought to trim that beard unless you want to look like one of those hairy clansmen the Imp brought with him to King’s Landing. I bet you haven’t cut it since before the battle.”

  He laughed. “So cutting my hair isn’t enough, little bird?”

  “No… wait… ah, there you go. I’m done!” She happily exclaimed as she left the dagger on the table and passed him the little mirror she’d bought yesterday at the market.

  “Not bad,” he rasped. “You did very well…”

  Later that day they had gone to have a look at the famous bathhouses which had originated in the East, after going to the harbor and asking if there were any ships going North. There hadn’t been, so Sansa had said she wanted to visit the bathhouses that a woman at the market had told her of the day before. They found one near the Sunset Gate, but they couldn’t go in together since this was a public place and women went into the house on the right and men to the house on the left. In the end Sansa liked the experience of bathing in the immense tub that could hold ten people well enough. The water had been scalding hot and the air thick with steam. She preferred her tub back at the inn, but she didn’t regret coming.

  So far the only thing that could be called awkward and unpleasant, was that on the morning of their third day in Pentos her moonblood had returned. For the second time she woke up agitated not knowing what was wrong until she felt the wetness and stickiness inside her legs. Moving to the right she saw the red stain quickly marring the sheets. The sight of it transported her a month prior to her room in Maegor’s Holdfast and all that had happened after that: trying to burn the evidence, the strange insolent looks her maids had given her, and finally breakfast with the queen… She had let out a desperate sob and when Sandor woke up and saw the cause of her distress she collapsed to the floor embarrassed.

  Though her situation was far better now than it had been on her previous flowering, the thought of having it while she shared a bed with Sandor was just so embarrassing. She had lost track of time and hadn’t realized it had already been a month since their escape. _It seems like those days were such a very long time ago, and there wasn’t even any pain to announce that it was coming this time…_

  Sandor hadn’t been nasty at all though. He had ordered the sheets to be taken away to be replaced for new ones, and even asked the innkeeper’s wife, who happened to be Dornish, to help her out. The woman had brought her many cloths to use and patted her shoulder as Sansa went on and on about what a silly girl she was. _At least now I don’t have to worry about bearing Joffrey’s children._ When the shock had left her she had smiled shyly to realize that though she was now no future queen to be, her life was much, much better. What surprised her more was that Sandor didn’t seem disgusted about her whole outburst or about still having to share a bed with her. In the end, she was careful to use two cloths instead of one when she went to sleep to avoid waking up with another red surprise. _From now on I have to mark the days despite anything and everything!_

  It was getting dark now and Sandor still hadn’t come back. _I hope he hasn’t gotten lost or robbed or gotten into a fight..! And I hope none of those things happened because he got drunk._ So far Sandor drank every day, but he didn’t seem to be much different from whenever she had stumbled upon him drunk in the Red Keep. Perhaps he was even a bit more sober now. Yet he wouldn’t go too far away from the inn, Sansa knew, and when he was finally home she had no idea what she would do regarding how to break to him her new proposition. She was nervous at present because she had decided to finally ask Sandor what he thought about not returning to Westeros just _yet_. As she waited for him to come back she tried to stay calm _. Be composed, like a lady ought to be._ Yet the same thoughts kept on going round and round in her head.

  When he finally knocked the signal to let her know he was back, Sansa dashed to the door to let him in, smiling sweetly up at him, happy to see him safely back. She was wearing only her pink colored nightgown but she barely thought about that as Sandor asked her if anything had gone wrong in his absence and placed the armor in a corner of the room. It wasn’t very proper to wear only her nightgown she knew, but after Sandor had pointed out the first time she tried it on that he had seen her in a nightgown before she let the matter pass, and so now it went unnoticed. The hot weather in Pentos made it impossible for her to sleep wearing her warm woolen garments, so she had to succumb to wearing lighter fabrics… The nightgown was, among three more gowns, smallclothes, a new pair of riding boots and some flat slippers were all presents from Sandor which he’d bought her three days ago. Even though she was used to wearing much finer garments, she couldn’t complain; the gowns were very pretty. She had longed to buy many more but if she was planning on traveling by foot soon she knew that little luxuries like that would be wasted on the road.

  Sandor had bought some new trousers along with some smallclothes, and a pair of simple tunics for daywear, along with one for sleeping and some boots for himself. Sansa was happy Sandor was finally letting go off his scuffed boots and patched breeches, yet the clothes he bought weren’t really that pretty. There was no real color in them, only browns and grays and the occasional green, but when she told him to at least wash his water stained leather jerkin he laughed at her and told her that he was not Renly or the Knight of Flowers, to care about such things. He’d told her later that everything related to his armor was still in a very good use, so there was no need to buy more. _He didn’t refuse the new leather jerkin you gave him for a present_. _Nor the reins for Stranger._ He hadn’t refused them, but he had been very angry when he learned Sansa had sold a golden ring with an emerald for them.

  “I didn’t want them,” she’d told him. “They were a gift from Joffrey. I don’t want anything that the Lannisters ever gave me. If I could I would forget all the memories I have from them…”

  That had made Sandor stop telling her off, though his frown of disapproval remained.

  “Did the blacksmith get rid of the dents?” she asked him at present.

  Sandor shrugged. “He did well enough. Not as good as some of the buggering fools back on the Street of Steel, but I won’t complain…”

 “It’s nice everything went all right then.”

  He grunted. “Are you hungry?”

  She nodded, a little nervous. _Maybe I should tell him as we have dinner_. “Yes, but… I don’t want to go down to the cramped common room. Couldn’t we have dinner here tonight?”

  “Sure. Let me go down then and get our meal.”

  The food that was being served for dinner was hardbread, goose eggs, roasted goose and ale… As they sat by the fireplace eating, Sansa was sure Sandor could tell something was troubling her.

  “What is it?” he finally asked her as she nibbled at the goose.

  “Are you enjoying Pentos?”

  “It’s all right.”

  “But don’t you find it exciting and strange and fun?”

  “It is certainly strange, and if I’ve had any fun these past few days it hasn’t been because I’m here, but because you amuse me.”

  Sansa tried to decide if that was an insult or a compliment, but his smile told her it was the latter. “We’ve come a long way since the first time we properly met, haven’t we?”

  Sandor put his wineskin on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Aye. For one you don’t shit yourself every time I talk or lay a hand on you now.”

  She threw him a look. “Well, what could you have expected of me? I was a child back then and fool enough to think myself in love with Joffrey.”

  Sandor chucked sourly. “I think that can be forgiven because the little shit was good at playing the gallant suitor when it pleased him. And we’ve paid him back with our little elopement, wouldn’t you say so…?”

  She smirked at him. “Yes, if they were even suspecting it I can only imagine the incredulous looks on Joff and his mother’s faces!”

  They laughed together at that. “But we weren’t talking about the bloody Lannisters, little bird. But of how far _we’ve_ come.”

  Sansa looked at her plate. “It’s so unreal to even think back on how much you scared me whenever you cursed or rasped something at me… Sandor, I’m so happy you chose me to open up to.”

  Sandor’s gaze met hers and for a moment he said nothing. “I’m happy for it too, little bird. I’ll bugger myself with a hot poker if I know what made me tell you about my face, but I’m glad I did it.”

  That night and those days brought her so many memories: her father giving her a doll and escorting her about the Red Keep introducing her to the noble lords and ladies fair; Arya proudly showing her all the bruises she’d collected during her lessons with her dancing master; Septa Mordane teaching her the ways of a lady of the south, and helping her with her knitting; Jeyne Poole sharing her dreams and secrets with her as they shared lemon cakes and strawberries pies...

  She sighed long and deep. She sighed for all those she had lost and the girl she’d once been.

  “What is it?” Sandor asked her.

  “Nothing, it’s only… I miss my needlework.”

  She couldn’t have said anything more unrelated to their current conversation. Sandor’s burned faced grew puzzled, the muscles near his neck and mouth stretching tight. That sight didn’t matter to her one bit.

  “You can get whatever the hell you need for that tomorrow after we go and check the docks, little bird.”

  She smiled at his way of trying to cheer her up and make light of the matter. “Yes of course I can, thank you. It’s just that I wasn’t really meaning needlework as it is. I meant that I missed my septa who introduced me to it. And I even miss Arya, though she hated sewing.”

  Sansa saw Sandor suppress a sneer. “No surprise there,” he remarked. “Your sister was a buggering little she-wolf if I ever laid my eyes on one… I remember her very little, but I certainly can’t see her warming up to the things you enjoyed.”

  They laughed at that a little for some reason, and when the laughter ended she steeled herself with courage to say her next words. “I know that recalling the past won’t help me survive. I must think back on those dear to me whom I have lost, but I can’t let those memories cloud my vision or my purpose…”

  Sandor looked at her intrigued. “And what would that vision and purpose be, Sansa?”

  “To survive,” she answered simply. “To survive like you said back at the inn of the _Stormed King_. Robb won’t win his war in a day. He’s been fighting for months and months now, whether it be against the Lannisters or the Baratheons or the Greyjoys… My sweet mother is with him wherever he’s at presently, whether it be in the Riverlands or in the West or in Riverrun. They must wait and bide their time as battles are fought and alliances are written or broken. Were I with them I would support Robb while I grieved with my mother for everything we’ve lost. Yet here I am; in Pentos, half a world away. I would like to be with them yes, but I can’t let my feelings blind me. You already told me the perils of reaching them anywhere that isn’t in the north. I may die at sea or in the north before I ever lay my eyes on their faces again… The King in the North _must_ win, but until he does I’ve been wondering if maybe it wouldn’t be best for us to hide here for a couple of months,” she finally confessed, anxious for his reaction to her little speech.

  Sandor didn’t give away his thoughts though. He just looked on and on at her as she went on, both their dinners discarded for the moment.

  “We are already here,” she continued. “And we can bide our time waiting in the Free Cities just as well as waiting in White Harbor with Lord Manderley. Maybe in a couple of months and if the old and new gods are kind Robb will have won and we might meet my family in Winterfell instead of in the Riverlands. Yet for right now Sandor, I want to stay here in the east. Pentos is so exciting and now that we are here it would be a waste to go back to Westeros without having even getting to _know_ Essos. Can you imagine the wonders that await us in some of the other Free Cities?”

  “There are no gods, little bird. And if they are, they are seldom good,” he finally replied, mouth twitching. “Are you sure you aren’t letting any of your motives out?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you fear being a royal hostage it’s understandable, but you would have me now little bird. I won’t let anyone harm you ever again.”

 Sansa wanted to smile and tell him how much she appreciated that and believed it, but she didn’t want to spoil the moment with talk about what had been like being a little bird trapped in a golden cage. So instead she ignored Sandor’s last remark and said, “I’m not asking you to remain here with me forever. I know you have matters you must attend to back home as well, but I want to spend the remaining time of the war in a place where I don’t have to mind my thoughts and chirp my empty courtesies. Here I feel alive and we can do whatever we like. Wake up whenever we want, eat whatever we wish, buy what we like, go where we please to without much concern. It sounds dreadfully as if I am throwing away my birth and not minding my duty or where my honor lies, but I think I’ve earned some care-free time after King’s Landing. I am not planning on never returning. I _do_ want to go back to the Seven Kingdoms, but I know that once we are there rules and duties will come back. Is it so terrible to wish to know what freedom feels like after being a prisoner for months and months to the monsters that killed my father? I’m sure you are starving for it as well after years of being treated with indifference… Gods willing, it may not even make that much of a difference if we took a ship heading north in three months rather than tomorrow.”

  Sandor quietly stood up and turned to look at the fire in the hearth. Sansa didn’t like it when he did that. _He is remembering Gregor and that horrible moment when he caught him playing with the wooden knight._ She stood up too and went to stand beside him. The flames were crackling and the warmth felt a little too suffocating in this close proximity.

  She quietly took his big callused strong hand in hers, looked up at him and the scars which were the product of getting too close to this sort of heat. Sandor didn’t draw back his hand nor look away from the fires. Instead he said softly, “You’re growing up, aren’t you, little bird?”

  Sansa blinked at him, surprised. Knowing Sandor she had been sure he would come up with some mockery about how her plans resembled one of the songs she loved so much, but never in a thousand years would she have imagined him telling her that her idea didn’t sound so mad, and that she was growing up. It made her both sad and happy to hear that…

  Sansa hadn’t thought that growing up could be linked with her desire to see the world, but she gathered Sandor might be right. Though he was talking about the way she was changing her views, unbidden came the memory of seeing herself properly in a full length mirror some days ago. Sandor had gone to take a bath in the courtyard though she had insisted he could use the bathtub in the room, but when he still went away anyways, Sansa had gone over to the mirror and received a surprise. _I suppose it has to do with my flowering_. Her body was rapidly changing. There were many times when she was standing besides Sandor and was awed to see how she’d grown taller in these past few weeks. Her breasts were bigger now and sore at times, and she seemed to have more curves and hips than she’d had back in King’s Landing. Her waist look tiny and her legs a little firmer than before. The change has been exciting _. I am becoming a beautiful woman_ , she had thought with pride while at the same moment she mourned for her lost childhood… Even her face was different. Not too drastically, but it was a little narrower than before, giving her an air of poise and dignity she well remembered admiring in her mother. And her eyes looked changed as well. _It’s just because I no longer cry like before, can freely laugh and not be concerned about anything these days_ …

  Sansa sighed. “I suppose I am.”

  “Not many thought so back in King’s Landing, but by all the things you’ve just said you show that you really are a Stark; a northern wolf.”

  She had never felt for him so! She squeezed his hand and said, “If what I just said didn’t seem like madness or desperate ramblings then, could you at least consider it?”

  Sandor nodded, finally taking his gaze off the fire.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: All the reviews I’ve received for the previous chapters have been wonderful and sweet and sooo encouraging! I really appreciate it that you all keep on reading this fic, and reading what you think of it always makes my day better! :)


	9. Friends and Peers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both of await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimers:  
> \- I don't gain anything by doing this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM  
> *My betas: gingerbeer48 & onborrowedwings, you’re wonderful and I deeply appreciate all the encouragement you’ve given me! :D  
> *The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.

  Later that night, as Sansa slept besides him in bed, Sandor found himself staring into the darkness, unable to get any sleep thanks to Sansa’s proposition. This night was the coldest one he’d known so far in Pentos, and outside a light rain was washing away all the dirt and filth of the city. _How could I not see this coming?_ Sure, he’d noticed Sansa’s increasing wonder for the marvels of the East, but to imagine she would be willing to stay here for a few more months rather than rushing back North on the first ship they could lay their hands on was unthinkable. And yet, here they were, and Sansa wanted to stay…

  _Of course it was bloody tempting,_ he mused, but apart from wondering what had brought about this change in Sansa, the thing that was bothering him the most was how he would be able to tour around the bloody Free Cities with Sansa Stark in tow without finally succumbing to his most basic desires. Sure, he’d surprised himself so far in not having laid a finger on her against her will, but the little bird was just too fucking beautiful for her own sake, and Sandor wasn’t Baelor the Blessed come again. Apart from waking up every morning pressed against Sansa in one way or another, his cock hard, there was the other detail of Sansa feeling now so very much at ease with his presence that she had taken to walking around their room wearing her bloody nightgown, due to the bloody heat Essos had to endure. The sight of her pretty growing teats moving freely underneath the loose light fabric had already sent him out of the room more than once to get his release. He knew the little bird didn’t think anything was amiss on those occasions since he always told her he was going for more wine, and indeed, he always returned with a new skin full to the brim…

  _Can I truly trust myself to keep at bay if we do this?_ Sansa was turning into an astonishing woman right in front of him, and with every passing day she was attracting more and more stares from all sorts of scrawny idiots who she passed by at the port and in the markets and gardens and even in the Sept-Beyond-the-Sea and every single fucking street in Pentos.

  _At least she doesn’t have to suffer Joff anymore…_ Sansa couldn’t fool Sandor. He knew she feared being taken captive again (he cursed Joffrey for the hundredth time for inflicting this kind of reasoning to the little bird) and it didn’t matter if she feared a grumpkin or a wilding or someone else making her a hostage- knowing better than anyone else the torments she had been forced to endure, he wouldn’t take her someplace where she feared this might happen again. Sandor was starting to remember all the sadistic comments the accursed boy king had one remarked he would like to do to Sansa, and they were just too horrible and twisted even for him to remember. He chose to forget that part of his life once more, as he easily dismissed the relatively creepy childhood he had seen Joffrey lived. _I may have not minded him very much at first, but seven hells, he sure showed you what sleeping with your brother can do to one of your children!_

  Sansa sighed in her sleep and turned around so that he could now see her face. He sighed as well as his hand reached out for an auburn lock. If he was honest with himself, the more he thought about staying in Essos with her the more he liked it. _When will I ever get another chance like this? The moment we get to White Harbor I’ll be back to being her shield and she a sister to the King in the North_. Back there she would be a princess and he a dog, but here they were peers and friends. Not that he thought she would treat him any differently when they returned to the Seven Kingdoms, but there would be no more sleeping together, or sharing their days with each other in such an intimate way. _And it’s not like there’s been much improvement in the bloody war for our presence to be required_. So far the news that they learned from the sailors down by the docks was nothing new: Stannis had lost and the Lannisters still ruled in King’s Landing while Robb Stark fought on in the West, while Stannis Baratheon still sulked behind the ancient stone walls of Dragonstone. _And I bet Gregor won’t be dying on me anytime soon…_ _Sansa is right_. _It’s not like it would make much difference if we stay the remainder of the war here rather than with fat lord Manderley_.

  The question was where to go? Myr and Tyrosh were out of the question in part because of the war they were in but also because Sansa didn’t want to get on another ship unless it was the one sailing North _. I won’t take her to fucking Lys either_. Lys was famous for their trade in bed slaves and Sandor wasn’t going to let some pale Lyseni take Sansa by force and turn her into some fancy whore. _It will have to be somewhere we can reach by land_ … _She will want to_ _have a say in it too so it can wait until tomorrow_.

  His thoughts strayed then into the way she had proposed their prolonged stay. The things she’d said surprised him because she had really opened up to him, and there couldn’t be a bigger contrast from the little girl he’d first met more than a year ago. _She doesn’t chirp about knights and fair maids anymore,_ he thought. _She is more practical and can accept reality with its ups and downs_. Though he was glad she was strong enough to see these things, he also found himself reminiscing sadly of the little girl full of hopes and dreams she’d once been… _The buggering fool her brother will one day instruct her to marry probably won’t know what a gift he’s gotten to have the little bird as a wife_. So far she had been a blessing in Sandor’s life, but would whatever idiot she would be married to be able to see and appreciate all her goodness? _If he doesn’t I’ll make sure he regrets it till the moon turns black!_ There were just so many things that bothered him about that. _What if her husband is not only handsome but good? You won’t do anything then, just stand by as he first wins her smiles and trust and then her heart…_

  The thought of Sansa’s future husband also gave him pause. In a year she could be married off to some poxy lord from the riverlands or the north, and Sandor would be kicked out of the bedroom like the dog he was thought to be. And there would be nothing he would be able to do about it. He would have believed that his agreement to stay here for some months alone with Sansa was a selfish one, had the little bird not been the one who wanted it in the first place. _She may not want to stay here just so we can keep on living in such closeness, but if that is one of the reasons why_ you _are doing this, you can hardly blame yourself_ …

 

\---

 

  When Sansa woke up the first thing that she noticed was that Sandor’s warm comforting presence wasn’t right beside her. She opened her eyes to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to her, his face hidden in his hands. She lifted her arm and rested her hand on his back, tentatively.

  Sandor stilled the moment their skin made contact but he didn’t shrug her hand away. Instead he turned his face to look at her as she asked him what was wrong.

  He attempted a smile. “Nothing’s wrong, little bird. Go back to sleep.”

  “It’s morning already, Sandor. I’ve rested enough,” she informed him kindly as she sat up in bed. “Didn’t you sleep at all?”

  His shrug was all the answer she needed. She knew exactly what was troubling his mind. Moving closer to him, she placed her hand once more on his shoulder, barely noticing that her knees were resting against his lower back.

  “I didn’t intend for my idea to rob you of your sleep, Sandor. Really… if you’re tired of me or if it’s such a bad notion, then we can go back-”

  Sandor shifted around in bed so he was facing her now. His eyes traveled from her eyes to her neck to her bare shoulders, as her loose nightgown had shifted down her arms. He sighed deeply. “Of course I’m not bloody tired of you..! It… it isn’t that, little bird. It isn’t as bad a notion as you think. I was just wondering where we could go to and how much we would be likely to spend.”

  “Do we have enough? Because I’ll sell my jewels and-”

  Sandor interrupted her. “You’ll do nothing of the kind, Sansa.”

  “But you are wasting all of your winnings on me! At least let me help since it’s me who wants to prolong this trip. _Please_.”

  Sandor grunted and said, “We’ll talk about it later.”

  She knew him too well to try and argue at the moment. So instead Sansa just smiled and stretched. When she was done she said, “So my plan is officially approved now?”

  He grinned wickedly at her and said, “It bloody well is.”

  Sansa gave out a little squeal of excitement and in the madness of the joy she was feeling she threw her arms around Sandor’s neck, hugging him tightly, her cheek pressing against him scarred one tightly. She didn’t want to let him go!

  “You won’t regret it!” she promised him. “You’ll see, it will be so much fun and it will be a real adventure.”

  Sandor was apparently very surprised with her reaction since he just sat there without moving as she hugged him. After some moments of hesitation his strong, long arms encircled her, returning the hug! His hold on her wasn’t as tight as the one she had on him though, and soon enough he rasped, “Sansa, I believe you, but let go off my neck, you’re choking me, girl!”

  She quickly released him, exclaiming her distress and apologizing. Sandor laughed and told her to stop that chirping.

  “Get dressed,” he barked at her. “We have to go look at as many maps of Essos as we can and prepare the other things we’ll need if we are actually going to go through with this.”

  They went to visit the Hall of A Thousand Scrolls where Sandor said the maps would likely be truer to the actual routes than the ones found at the stands in the markets. Slipping some coins to one of the young acolytes that worked there, Sandor bought three maps for their use.

  They ate their midday meal at a little shop they’d discovered days before which served the best stew they’d tasted in this side of the Narrow Sea and where one had to sit on little cushions spread all over the floor since there were no chairs, before they returned to the inn to spent the rest of the afternoon deciding where they should head forth next, as they shared and enjoyed a flagon of cider. Sansa thought wine tasted finer, yet cider was more to her taste than the ale the innkeeper was serving below.

  “So little bird,” Sandor had begun as he laid the maps across the table. “Let’s see where we would be less conspicuous…”

  They stared at the scrolls for the longest time until Sandor said, “I gather you wouldn’t be that keen on another trip by sea, would you little bird?”

  Sansa shook her head. “No thank you. If given the choice I would prefer to go back to our manner of living in the Kingswood than to those days in the _Summer Bird’s_ cabin.”

  Sandor mumbled something under his breath. Sansa took another sip of the cider until Sandor started talking outloud again.

  “If we must travel only by land then we must cross out Myr, Tyrosh, the Stepstones, Lys, Volantis, Lorath and Braavos… I don’t think going to Qarth or the freak cities around the Jade Sea would work either because they’re too far away from the Seven Kingdoms. We would have no way of learning what was happening.”

  Sansa rested her chin on her palm. “You’re right. Ashaii by the Shadow and Slaver’s Bay are too far away. As are the Port of Ibben or the Summer Isles. But look, we shouldn’t rule out Volantis since there’s more than one way to reach it. Even Myr would still be possible. If we can cross our way through the Flatlands and the Golden Fields all the way down to Selhorys and Valysar, Volantis would be reachable.”

  Sandor arched an eyebrow at her. “Yes we might go south by that route, but if we did I wouldn’t be taking you by land. We would need to hire one of the small ships that sail up and down the river, but even then we might be caught by river pirates or even catch grayscale down by the Sorrows. Besides, the Disputed Lands are filled with many sellswords companies. I don’t want to scare you but if they got their filthy hands on us you would never be allowed to leave them, while I would be forced to fight for them.”

  Sansa bit her lips in a frown. “Oh,” she said, a little put out. And then she added teasingly, “I would’ve thought you’d like the life of a sellsword.”

  “I know of worse ways to live out one’s worthless life, but that’s not the point here. So let’s look for another place for us to go to.”

  “All right then… Hmm what about Qohor?”

  “No,” Sandor said at once.

  Sansa made a face at him. “Really, Sandor, why not? We can’t go North either since there’s nothing but these Velvet Hills…”

  “Remember what I told you about the Bloody Mummers, girl?”

  Sansa had to think back for a moment before she nodded.

  “Well their leader is from Qohor. Vargho Hoat, the goat. I can understand your position, but trust me little bird, if you had ever heard Hoat speak you would want to put as many miles from him as you could. He can’t open his trap without slobbering and you’re actually telling me to go to the place where the goat came from to hear his whole lot of shitless family and neighbors slobber me into an early grave?”

  Sansa was trying very hard not laugh. “Oh really Sandor!” was all she could manage.

  Sandor returned the grin. “Even if I wasn’t afraid for Qohor being filled with useless mad goats, there’s still the problem that it lays too close to the Dothraki Sea. Many khalasar’s ride by Qohor whenever they want to come this far west for trade.”

  Sansa sighed resigned. “Fine, we’ll cross out Qohor as well.” She stood up from the little table to feed the fire. When that was done and she had returned to the table, she pondered the familiarity which she now shared with Sandor. It was the easiest and most natural thing in the world now to move behind him as he sat considering on all the different routes from the Disputed Lands to the Dothraki Sea, and place her hand on his shoulder. She felt him tense at her gesture, but she did not remove her hand. Instead she tried to knead the muscles beneath her as she took her cup of cider to her lips once more. She then bent over to see the map from Sandor’s point of view, as the big man sat frozen beside her, staring at her from the corner of his eyes.

  Sansa smiled. “Ah, there!” she said, pointing with her finger at a little black dot on the map surrounded by mountains from all directions. “We should go there.”

  _Norvos_.

  She heard Sandor’s hoarse agreement beside her as he grunted. “It might be our best option… It isn’t _too_ far away from Westeros and if our presence is required back home the road from Pentos to Norvos is almost straight and direct.”

  Sansa smiled. “Yes, and there isn’t _as_ big a threat for grayscale or sellswords or ships or Dothraki in Norvos.”

  “Don’t be so sure, little bird. Norvos is going to be a busy city where the trading caravans from the west meet the ones from the east.”

  She straightened up and reluctantly took her hand away from Sandor’s shoulder. She sat back down trying to remember what she’d heard of the place. There weren’t many songs she knew regarding Norvos, but deep in her heart the certainty that it would be as beautiful as Pentos had been was growing.

  The sound of Sandor kicking off his boots returned Sansa to the represent. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and went on.

  “Well in any case I think it would only take us about half a year…”

  If Sandor was reluctant to stay that long away from Westeros he certainly didn’t show it.

  _So this is it!_ _Norvos it is then!_ She thought excitedly.They spend an hour more discussing and imagining what would Norvos be like.

 

 

\--

 

  Sansa was running. Running through dark tunnels and stone hallways. She was scared and knew that if she stopped for the merest second to breathe that it would be the end. The darkness was already devouring the dim light the candles on the wall behind her gave out. So she kept running. As she turned right around a corner she realized she was running in the crypts of Winterfell where all the Starks who’d come before her were resting. _If this is Winterfell, then I’m home. Why then am I in such danger?_ She wondered frantically. She began to cry out to her parents and then to her siblings, but there was no response except the echoes her voice cast. She ran trying hard not to stumble on the hem of her skirts, when suddenly she saw Lady sitting right in front of her. _That_ made her stop dead on her tracks. _Lady?_ She asked incredulous. She knew this was her wolf even though she looked so different. Sansa knelt on the floor besides her direwolf, the threat of the darkness forgotten. Lady licked her hand and Sansa giggled. _Lady, what happened to you?_ she gasped when her wolf turned her head to reveal that half her snout and head were covered in scars. Sansa looked into Lady’s grey eyes and just as she was drowning in them, a flaming sword came out of the darkness and impaled itself on the direwolf.

  Sansa woke up screaming Sandor’s name. Sandor was shaking her by the arms and telling her to wake up or hush up or calm down. After a bewildered moment where she focused on her surroundings, realizing it had all been a dream, Sansa let out a sob. There were already tears in her eyes, but when she remembered that horrible long burning sword she cried out Sandor’s name again and threw her arms around him.

  “Sansa, what the hell were you dreaming?” he asked her, as she pressed herself to him.

  “It- it was too horrible, Sandor! Oh gods, I can’t even say it! I was... I was… and Lady was there and then the sword!”

  Sandor disentangled himself from her iron grip as gently as he could. “Little bird, it’s all right now, it was only a bad dream. You’re safe here in our room and no one will hurt you with their swords or anything else ever again.”

  As he wiped away her tears with his thumb Sansa cried, “But it wasn’t hurting _me_! It- it killed Lady.”

  Sandor’s brow wrinkled up. “That was your direwolf, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded, still too scared and in shock to do anything else.

  “Little bird, it was Joffrey, that bastard and his cunt of a mother, who killed your wolf. But they can’t hurt you anymore.”

  “I know, but it- it seemed so real.”

  Sandor smiled kindly down at her. “Silly little bird, it’s done now. Come.”

  And without further ado Sandor pulled her into his arms and hugged her. She was a little taken aback by the way he was comforting her, but remembering that he’d done the same when she had cried in the Kingswood, she realized that it shouldn’t really surprise her. She rested her head on his chest and after a moment of hesitation hugged him in return, her arm going around his chest.

   Sandor kissed the top of her head and began to shift away the hair from her face. She strained her neck up so she could face him and was rewarded with Sandor’s face for once relieved of all its anger and frowns. He did look a little worried, but in his eyes and face there was kindness. It felt so good to be comforted, and with every passing breath her horrible nightmare was disappearing.

  “Won’t you sing us a song, little bird? It may soothe you.”

  “No,” she whimpered, her voice muffled by his tunic. “I… I would rather hear the sound of your voice. It makes me feel safe.”

  Sandor laughed. “The little bird wants to hear the Hound howl to the moon, is that it? Or have you taken me for your wet-nurse?”

  Sansa frowned and looked at him again. “Sandor, you aren’t the Hound anymore. Don’t call yourself that please. And don’t be mean either…”

  Sandor opened his mouth to protest, and Sansa, already hearing the cynical retorts he would say to her, moved her hand towards his collarbone where his dark curls started covering his chest. She watched him watching her as she slowly began to curl her finger around them. “I didn’t mean you have to sing me to sleep. I- I was thinking you could tell me a story.”

  Sandor didn’t remove her hand from his chest. His grey eyes flickered to it but he only answered, “I could. I know lots of really boring ones that would have you dreaming in a heartbeat.”

  Sansa smiled at that. “Would it be too out of place if you told me a story from your childhood? About your grandfather? You seem to have… disliked him less than you did your father.”

  Sandor’s face hardened instantly but Sansa didn’t look away. When he turned his face towards the window, not facing her, she was sure she’d gone too far. Just as she was about to apologize though, Sandor began talking…

  In the end as Sandor opened his heart to her once more he told her about the man he’d admired as he grew up, all the while cradling her body to his. Sansa lay relaxed with her head on his chest, hugging him to her, barely registering that at some point Sandor had crossed his leg so that they were slowly caressing each other’s feet… What did surprise her though was that more than once she had to stifle a desire, born deep within her, to throw her leg over Sandor, particularly when his hand started to trace the line of her waist lightly in a very soothing and relaxing manner. Many childhood stories later, both Sansa and Sandor drifted off into sweet dreams.

 

 The next time she woke up it was early morning and the world was bright and right once again. Sansa, still drowsy from sleep, managed to register she wasn’t in Sandor’s arms anymore, and as the memories from hours ago came back to her, she felt like burying her face deep into her pillows so she could just _remember_... Yet the morning didn’t begin badly at all. The moment she opened her eyes she was greeted with the sight of Sandor standing by the waterbasin, wearing nothing but his breeches! She instantly stifled a little gasp and made herself lay very still. _If he doesn’t know I’m awake I can watch unperturbed_. The question her conscience asked her, of why she would want to do that didn’t seem of much importance at the moment. Sansa only knew that she wanted to see him like this.

  Sandor was washing his arms with a wet cloth. The imposing sight of his muscled body made her remember days long gone at Winterfell when Jeyne Poole and she had watched Theon, Robb and Jon practicing with Ser Rodrik, when summer had reigned. Jeyne had been head over heels for all three then, and so she’d begged Sansa to spy on the boys with her. At the time Sansa had agreed mostly out of curiosity and because she had the best time trying to stifle her giggles when she and Jeyne were doing something… naughty. _What a little fool I was!_ Sansa thought now as her eyes roamed Sandor’s chest. Her brothers and Theon had been nice looking to be sure, but mere boys, and even then she’d not seen them with nothing to cover their upper bodies. To have Sandor as her first look at a man’s nude chest was quite overwhelming. Sure, she’d caught swift glances of blacksmiths wearing only aprons at Winterfell and the Red Keep, but even then the only bare thing about them were their arms, and the only outstanding thing on them had been their big-bellies. Back in King’s Landing she would have wondered what the Knight of the Flowers looked like behind his armor, but Ser Loras Tyrell was not in her mind this morning. Sandor Clegane was the only thing in the world she cared about at present, in these mad morning moments when the world outside seemed to slow down until it existed no more…

  Her tummy began to flutter as Sandor dipped the cloth once more into the water before moving it to his chest. The water sliding down his skin was just as stirring as the way his muscles flexed when he stretched. _He’s so hairy_ , she marveled. But the thick dark hair on his arms and chest were actually nice on him. She felt a desire to curl her fingers in them once again. Another thing Sansa admired was the sight of so many battle scars upon him _. There’s a whole side of Sandor which I don’t even know about_. She wanted to ask him where and how he had gained so many, and maybe even slide her finger down each one. _He is the image of the Warrior and the Stranger come together in the flesh_. Sansa smiled to herself and bit her pillow as she supposed that might make her the Maid in whatever tale this was. 

  Sandor being her first look upon a man’s body made it impossible to compare him with others, but she liked how wide his shoulders were, and the narrow waist he had. _I wonder what it would feel like to caress his back slowly…_ There was now a warm feeling just below her belly which made her press her legs together.

  That had her blinking a couple of times. What on earth was happening to her? If truth be told, Sandor’s body looked _dangerous_ and yet here she was marveling at the oddest things: like the way his thighs and legs resembled thick tree trunks or at just how big his hands were. _He’s killed many with his bare hands, I wager. And yet, he’s never been anything but gentle when handling me or touching me are concerned_ …

  Just then Sandor left the discarded wet cloth on the table and started drying his face, arms, chest, shoulders and neck with a towel. When he was done he turned to look over at her. She quickly closed her eyes, pretending that she had seen nothing. _Sandor probably wouldn’t even care if he knew I saw him_ , but keeping it a secret from him did give the whole moment an air of secrecy and excitement.

  She heard him walking over to the bed, and then for the longest time, nothing. It took all of her will power not to open her eyes or move an inch. The thought of Sandor staring at her as she slept brought as many answers as it raised questions in her head where this new intimacy they shared was concerned. When she was sure she could hold this position no more, she felt Sandor’s calloused fingers caressing the length of her leg! She’d shifted around so much earlier that her nightshift had tangled around her legs, baring one to the knee. That was the one that Sandor caressed. Every conscious thought in Sansa was telling her to open her eyes and tell him not to touch her like that, but every basic instinct was relishing this slight kind gesture from the big man. She heard Sandor sigh slowly and deeply before he brought her nightshift down to cover her up. The sound of his retreating footsteps was heard next, so she opened her eyes a little bit. Sansa saw that Sandor had gone to the balcony to stare at the beautiful view as he pulled on his tunic. She let out a long contained breathless sigh as well, covering her face, feeling flushed.

  When he came back, Sansa was sitting by the edge of the bed, her auburn hair cascading wildly down her back and across her shoulders, and her nightgown sliding down her shoulder.

  Sandor took one look at her and quickly stared at the floor, which suited Sansa just fine as she was blushing fiercely the moment their eyes met, feeling mischievous.

  “Little bird,” he acknowledged with a snarl of that deep, thick rasping voice of his.

  “Good morning, Sandor… Have you been up long?”

  “About half an hour,” he replied as she stretched over to the little stool by the bed to grab a cup full of water, his eyes not leaving her now.

  She got out of bed content, her legs just a little unsteady from moments ago, stretching. Then she passed right by Sandor and stepped into the balcony to have a look at the view. She did this every morning.

  “Better stop gaping at the view if you want to eat, little bird,” Sandor called from inside some time later.

  Sansa stepped into the room and saw that Sandor was already halfway into his armor. She rushed to help him, and as she took the cold greave from his their eyes met for a moment; his uncertain, hers defiant. He sighed in reluctance and Sansa knelt down to tie the greave to his leg.

  When Sana was done she went to wash her face and hands and took her cloak from the peg by the door. That was the queue for Sandor to leave the room so she could change. As he was opening the door though, Stranger’s saddle under his arm, he said, “I think the time has come for your jewelry and some of the gold to be hidden in our smallclothes.”

  “I agree. I’ll tend to that this afternoon,” she said, blushing and trying hard to suppress a burst of chuckles at the thought of having to tend to his smallclothes too.

  That morning, for the first time since they had arrived in Pentos, they didn’t go to the docks to inquire about a ship sailing to the Sunset Kingdoms. Instead they went looking for a horse for Sansa. After that she’d gone for an hour to Sept-Beyond-the-Sea to thank the gods for everything, she left the temple wondering if she would find another one in Norvos.

  _Maybe I should take the gods with us_ , she suddenly thought, and ended up buying two wooden little figures of the Maid (for her) and the Warrior (for Sandor) in the market. It would make her feel better to pray to them at night, as she both thanked them for her present lot and asked them to continue to look after her lady mother and Robb. Sansa had wished to get the other five figures, but they would only be a burden on their journey. And besides, Septa Mordane, Mother and septons alike had always said that the Seven faces were the same god. _So it makes no matter if I pray to the Maid and the Warrior. The Mother and the Father, the Smith and the Crone, and the Stranger would all be coming along with us…_

  The following days passed by very quickly. While they had been uncertain as to when they would be able to board a ship to take them North, time had gone on in such a fashion where it almost seemed as if it had stopped. Yet now that they knew where they were heading, one thing led to another and as quick as that, five days of preparations had already come and gone. Sansa was both glad and saddened by this. She was excited and even impatient to start off on their journey east, yet a part of her didn’t want to leave Pentos behind. Here she had changed so much, not only in her friendship with Sandor but also in how much she’d grown up…

  _If we stay in Pentos any longer it will be impossible for me to leave it_ , Sansa thought, trying to reason with herself. She was very excited to see Norvos, and both she and Sandor tried to recall whatever they had heard of the city and to learn new facts in the Hall of a Thousand Scrolls.

  Apart from learning about their new destination as much as they could, they also had to go shopping for supplies to see them through the journey. Sansa Stark would never have thought it possible that it would be fun to go out shopping with Sandor Clegane. She had been sure he would try to get their provisions as quickly as possible, while frowning at the shop owners and fellow buyers. _Well_ , _he did frown_ , Sansa mused, _but he also jested and broke into barks of laughter and didn’t seem in a hurry to hasten things up_.

  It seemed that Sandor took a perverse delight in fooling around with her and the way she became excited about shopping. Yet almost every time he had Sansa joining in the honest laughter.

  By the sixth day their room back at the inn was full of the things they would need on the road, and now the inn’s stables were lodging two horses belonging to them. Sandor had bought her a beautiful chestnut colored mare with a big white blaze on its forehead and muzzle. They hadn’t gone shopping for her horse together though; Sandor had surprised her one night after dinner with the mare.

  They had been sitting in a quiet corner of the common room in an alcove, finishing the last remains of their food when Sandor had asked her if she would accompany him to tend to Stranger for the night. She’d agreed of course, so after leaving some coins on the table and drinking down the last drops of their honeyed wine, Sansa had trailed after Sandor to the stone courtyard at the back of the building. Her eyes had traveled instantly towards the beauty besides Sandor’s big ferocious destrier.

  Sandor had stopped walking to peer at her face in the gathering darkness.

  “Like what you see, do you?” he’d said, grinning.

  Sansa had sighed. “Oh Sandor, its beautiful..!”

  She had looked around her then and whispered, “Do you think its owner will be cross if I pat it?”

  Sandor had shrugged at that. “It’s a she, little bird, not an _it_. And as to the owner getting angry, I don’t think so seeing as it is yours.”

  Sansa blinked up at him a couple of times. “What?”

  “I bought the mare for you some hours ago while you were taking a nap. I take it that you like her then?”

  Sansa’s mouth had hung open at those words after she’d let out a gasp. A moment later, thinking that it must look unseemly, she had clasped her hand over it before she whispered, “Why?”

  Sandor grunted, yet Sansa could see that he was very pleased with himself. “We cannot buy a wagon for our things. It would slow us down, and Stranger is strong but he won’t be able to carry us and our supplies both. This way we can split up the weight and it may even go easier to you if you have a horse all to yourself instead of me taking away space from the saddle.”

  The mention of the saddle had Sansa laughing. “Oh you’re wicked! So the new saddle upstairs isn’t meant for Stranger after all then!”

  Sandor didn’t look abashed at all. “Well I had to come up with something so you wouldn’t suspect a thing. It was a surprise.”

  _A surprise indeed!_ She thought delighted. “Oh Sandor thank you so much! You’re wonderful!”

  She felt an instinct to throw her arms around him just so she could show him just how much this meant for her, but somehow being out here in the open stifled that impulse. Instead she gave him her most dashing smile before walking towards the animal. Stranger was more than used to her presence by now, and before she reached her horse she ruffled Stranger’s hair lightly saying, “I think you like her, don’t you? Else you would be thrashing in your stall in an urge to be left alone.”

  The dark horse snorted in agreement. Sansa blinked at him before going to stand before her mare.

  Up close the horse took her breath away. She was absolutely perfect and looked the right horse for her. _Sandor knows my tastes too well by now_ , she smiled, amused. It was funny that she was so happy about owning a horse when she had never liked them much before. _It’s the thought of having something of my own again that makes me happy_. _And I owe her and so much else to Sandor_.

  Having this horse for her own inevitably brought her Lady to her mind. She had shared a deep connection with her direwolf and would always have a place in her heart for her, but thinking about her and the way she had been unjustly killed made her fear for her new horse. What if she were to suffer the same fate?

  Sandor walked up beside her in the stillness of the courtyard. Inside the inn and all around them light from other houses could be seen through the windows, and voices and laughter broke the silence of the moment. Only a cricket and a nightingale could be heard chirping their songs at them. The air was rich with the scent of roasted goat and rain and dirt and moss.

  “Is something wrong, little bird? She won’t bite you.”

  Sansa understood what he meant; she hadn’t touched the horse yet. She had only stood there, staring intently at the horse’s eyes as the mare looked back.

  “I know. It’s just… I was remembering Lady.”

  Sandor now understood what she was talking about. “Oh,” he said softly before putting his hand on her shoulder; a reassuring and comforting gesture Sansa was grateful for. “Little bird, I won’t let your horse die the way your wolf did. I promise.”

  Sansa turned her neck to smile once more at her friend. Yet as she gazed up at him, memories of King Robert’s voice echoed in her mind. After the king had declared that Lady was to die in place of Nymeria and right after her father had pleaded with his friend to forget such folly King Robert had said, “ _Get her a dog, she’ll be happier for it_.”

  And Sansa’s world had crumbled. She’d understood what would need to happen next and had pleaded and sobbed for Lady to be spared to no avail. She could still recall her father hugging her then but not much after that. Sandor hadn’t been there. _I think he was hunting for either Arya or the butcher’s boy, yet earlier that day we spoke for the first time. How he frightened me! Yet I thought he was Father when I bumped into him_ … Thinking of Lady dying and of her father and of Sandor made her wonder for the first time if Sandor, who was known as the Hound back home, wasn’t in a way Lady’s replacement _. He would never be able to understand her the way the direwolf had, yet Lady wouldn’t have outlived Father long with Joffrey as king. I don’t have to compare one protector and friend to the other though. I should just be happy that I knew Lady, and that I am now with Sandor… and that I now have you,_ she thought returning her gaze to her beautiful mare.

  Sansa’s hand slowly and gently reached out to the horse’s muzzle, and the moment she touched the horse her face lit up by a wide smile. Out of nowhere Sandor produced a sugar lump and handed it to her. As she fed her horse (and Stranger too) with the sweets Sandor asked her how she would name the mare.

  “I want her to be called after someone I knew and loved,” she admitted.

  Sandor had looked at her, with softness in his dark grey eyes. “Little bird, I don’t think it would be wise if you call her after your parents or siblings.”

  “It wouldn’t…” she agreed. She thought long and hard and finally said, “There was this woman back in Winterfell who served as nurse and storyteller, and she was the oldest person in Winterfell. I learned all the songs and tales of knights and fair maids due to her, and she was always warm and cared and loved us all.”

  _I wonder where she is now_ …

  “What was her name?”

  “I never knew her real name, but we called her Old Nan.”

  Sandor considered the option. “Nan… I would’ve thought you would call the horse after some lady or princess… Something like Bonnie or Jonquil.”

  Sansa chuckled. “Those names are nice but I think I will call her Nan. What do you think, Stranger?”

  The destrier snorted again.

  “Nan it is then!” Sandor exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Well little bird, I’m sure you’ll warm to each other quick enough. She was the best I could get and the one most suited to you that I could find.”

  Sansa slipped her arm around Sandor’s and leaned towards him. “I know. Thank you.”

  They spent some more time outside with Nan and Stranger before heading upstairs for bed. Right as they were going to step inside though, Sansa looked up to face the thousand shinning stars while a single tear ran down her cheek…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing!! :D


	10. Discovering the Deep Well of Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both of await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimers:  
> \- I don't gain anything by doing this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And both the title of the fic and the title of this chapter belong to Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)   
> *My betas: swiftsnowmane, onborrowedwings & gingerbeer48, once again thank you for everything girls!! :)
> 
> *The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.  
> Dedicated to kylathelurker for liking Sandor’s grandpa so much! This one is for you :)

  When their last day in Pentos finally arrived Sansa didn’t want to wake up. This _is the last night we get to sleep here_ , she regretted drowsily. She had been having such a nice dream, and though the featherbed was quite old it was also cozy and the pillows were so comfortable that she was loath to open her eyes.

  It wasn’t until she heard Sandor putting on his boots that she remembered the wonderful dream she had woken from had been about Sandor. Sansa blushed at the thought, and even more so when she realized she didn’t feel embarrassed anymore for this intimacy with a man who was not her lord husband. After blinking away the night’s sleep she shifted around so she was lying on her back and saw Sandor turn his neck to look at her. She couldn’t help but smile as she stretched lazily, not even realizing that the movement ensured that her long legs could be seen beneath her skirts. Sansa yawned and caught Sandor staring at her bare legs as she massaged one against the other. When she finally remembered that she was a princess and a lady and shouldn’t be exposing her legs like this, she pouted and said the first thing that came into her mind. “How are you feeling?”

  Sandor looked back at her face with an incredulous expression on his. “What do you mean?”

  She turned on her side again, leaning her head up on her elbow. “Are you sad or excited that we are leaving this place?”

  Sandor considered that for a moment. “Both,” he admitted. “And you?”

  “Oh, it is the same for me and I’m nervous. I am so happy we are going to embark upon this adventure, yet I also feel a little sad to leave Pentos and this room… in a way it has become a sort of home, hasn’t it?”

  Sandor nodded and grunted in agreement. “These bloody buggering Pentoshi know how to enjoy life, don’t they?”

  “They do,” Sansa agreed. “Yet I was thinking not so much of the city but of who we’ve become as we stayed here.”

  “I know,” Sandor said. “And I also know what you mean about this room… Not in a million years would I have thought we would one day be where we are now.”

  Sansa didn’t want to let her attachment to this place damper both their spirits for the journey ahead of them, so she decided to act jolly and playful.

  “To be sure! I would never have thought there would come a day when I didn’t mind your snores anymore,” she said teasingly.

  Sandor broke out into a loud laugh. “Is that the way of it then?” he asked her once he recovered.

  Sansa could feel herself blushing as she sat up in bed. “Well… they startled me at first back in the Kingswood, but not for very long,” she tried to explain. “And now I don’t even notice them.”

  Sandor gave out a grudging grunt. “Good answer little bird. Else I would have shown you something which you would never stop minding about.”

  Sansa had woken up so relaxed and happy that she felt something akin to mischievousness. She arched her eyebrow as her hand reached out casually for her pillow. “Really? Why now, I’m so lucky then!”

  Sandor sensed that something was happening. “You are…” he agreed slowly.

  “Oh but you’re not!” she squealed, and without further ado she shocked both herself and Sandor as she threw the pillow at him in play.

  She gasped at her audacity as Sandor took a long moment to stare at the fallen pillow on his leg and then at her before he laughed maliciously and said, “You asked for it, little bird!”

  Knowing what was coming Sansa tried to get out of bed as quickly as she could, but the blankets were tangled around her legs and before she could do anything more than just exclaim “No please!” Sandor grabbed her ankle with one hand while he threw the pillow at her. He did it so gently that Sansa barely felt it, but waves of laughter took hold of her and she began to giggle uncontrollably as she tried to free herself. Sandor was having none of that though. Forgetting the pillows he began to tickle the sole of her feet. Taking care not to hit him in the face with her leg thanks to the mad struggle for freedom that possessed her, she cried, “No Sandor! R- really I can’t- can’t stand… tickles!”

  “Should’ve thought twice about starting a pillow fight against me then, shouldn’t you..? Yield!”

  _Oh gods, it feels so good_! She had loved to get into fights like this back in Winterfell with her siblings before Septa Mordane told her that it was no proper behavior for a lady. Sansa couldn’t believe how much she’d missed this! Yet it was even more incredible the way Sandor Clegane was playing along just as enthusiastically as Bran and little Rickon once did!

  “No- I- don’t… yield!” she spat, in between breaths.

  Sandor was laughing as well, his smiles making the scarred side of his face stretch out oddly, and while the morning light streaming through the balcony threw into sharp detail all the craters and red cracks that covered half his face, Sansa felt the pressing need to suddenly get closer to him. From somewhere she found the strength to pull her upper body into a sitting position and taking hold of Sandor’s tunic she fell back on the bed, bringing Sandor on top of her.

  The first thing she registered was that her ankle was finally free, but now that she had her wish of being closer to Sandor everything had changed. There was no laughter now, only stunned silence from her behavior by both of them. His nose was almost touching hers when he finally blinked twice and tried to pull back… But something in Sansa didn’t want to let him go just yet.

  “Don’t,” she whispered ever so faintly, making herself wonder if she was really saying these things. “I… I haven’t yielded yet.” It was a poor excuse but she needed to say _something_.

  Sandor wouldn’t or couldn’t say anything. Sansa had learned over the weeks to read not only Sandor’s face, words and manners but his eyes as well. Now she saw in them longing and guilt clashing with each other. _Maybe he is thinking back on the night of the battle when he threatened to kill me if I didn’t sing him a song..?_ But if that was the case and Sandor was feeling guilty about that, then he couldn’t have been more mistaken! Instead of fearing him she somehow still wanted to draw him even closer to her- to somehow close the small gap that was between them. _After all, he didn’t have to pin me to the bed this time. It happened the other way around_ …

  Sandor’s mouth began to twitch then. Once even that little movement had been too much for her to look at, but in these mad moments the thought of kissing him right _there_ crossed her mind!

  Sansa wasn’t sure if Sandor would want that though, so instead she brought up her hand to the scarred side of his face and gently, lightly, slowly Sansa brought her fingers closer to his mouth, his rough stubble scratching her.

_What a fool I was to be afraid of this man!_

The contact of their skins pressed together liked this only served to make the twitch worse, and as she felt the trembling of his mouth beneath her fingertips, Sandor let out a deep groan.

  The sound sent a shiver through her body as her hand moved towards his bearded jaw and cheekbone, the sensation of the warmth they were sharing making her feel giddy with excitement. Sandor actually leaned into her hand, moving Sansa beyond words…

  Time stood still and neither of them knew if they stayed like that for just a minute or for hours without end.

  For Sansa at least, it didn’t matter. Her rational conscience was long gone. She didn’t know that she was discovering life’s deep well of desire, nor that what she was feeling was the urgent thirst for its sweet waters. In her mind, thousands of wild thoughts and bold suggestions were being born, but in the end her body seemed to know what was expected of her by instinct in such a situation as this.

  Sansa felt Sandor trying to keep his hips and legs as far away from hers as he could, but his chest was starting to crush her into the bed. She brought her other hand to his chest, caressing him timidly. She hoped that the reason why he wasn’t touching her was because he was using his hands to support himself above her rather than because he wasn’t feeling the need of it, for that would have completely clashed with her own situation.

  Sansa could feel the powerful strength in Sandor’s chest. He was strong and muscular and big; so broad of shoulders that his mere presence made her feel giddy and helpless and fragile like a little bird more than ever before. There was a sudden wetness between her legs, and Sansa blushed fiercely at the notion that Sandor would somehow feel it; would somehow _know_. Her eyes widened when she thought about that, and her lips parted open a little, betraying her.

  Their eyes had been locked with each other’s this whole time, Sansa drinking him in with her gaze as she felt Sandor drowning in hers intensely… These were the most beautiful feelings she’d ever recalled possessing. _Not even Joffrey made me feel like this when I still thought him good and kind_. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Joff had only been a boy, while Sandor was a man grown, but it didn’t matter much now, did it? The things she was feeling were like nothing she had ever experienced before, nor even believed possible of existing.

  _Is this normal? Is this what married people feel when they are alone?_ Sansa wasn’t married to Sandor. Even if he was her friend and protector she had a very big suspicion that this kind of behavior wouldn’t be allowed had they not been the only people in the room- in the world!

  Sansa had never found herself in a situation like this, yet she felt that things could be taken even further were Sandor and her willing. Yet she didn’t know how to let Sandor know this, nor was he letting her know that either.  

  _Maybe I should lean in closer to him?_ she considered.

  As a sigh left her soul, whether because she was disappointed Sandor wasn’t doing anything or because she was warmly agitated Sansa never knew, for in that moment she caught a sudden flash of anger cross Sandor’s eyes and face, and before she knew what was happening he had managed to wrench himself free of her gasp, letting out a long contained gasp.

  Sansa blinked a couple of times, staring now at the ceiling above her, her chest rising up and down as she breathed deeply and loudly. She turned her head to see Sandor sitting by the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair, swearing loudly.

  He stood up and paced the room three times before striding outside to the balcony never looking at her.

  Sansa wasn’t sure why things had suddenly changed, and she wasn’t even sure yet if Sandor was angry at her or just as confused as she was. _Will I ever dare ask him what has just happened?_ She asked herself. Yet she found no right answer to that question. _Oh, for mother to be here so she could explain things to me..! Yet she could never know that I’ve been sharing the bed with Sandor, least of all whatever it was that just happened here._ She wanted to scream at both her septa and her mother for not telling her what was to be done in such a situation as this. The only advice she could recall that could remotely be related to what had happened had come from Queen Cersei, so Sansa dismissed it instantly. 

  As she was sitting up in bed Sandor came into the room, his eyes flickering quickly over her before he settled with staring at the wall behind her. She wanted to throw a pillow at Sandor again because of that, only this time out of anger not mischievousness.

  “Get dressed,” he informed her shortly, yet not unkindly. “We must set out soon and we still haven’t had our breakfast.”

  With that he left to check on Nan and Stranger she supposed. Sansa sat in bed staring at the closed door, wondering if she wanted to cry or laugh. In the end she settled for neither. She got up, washed her face, mouth and hands, brushed out her hair, braided it and changed into her clothes.

  She was packing up the last of their things when Sandor came back to escort her to breakfast, still avoiding her eyes. Sansa wanted to scream. _Say something, anything! Talk about the weather if you must, but speak up!_

  Sandor didn’t say a word.

 

  _What the fuck had just happened?_ Sandor wondered for the hundredth time as he sat in front of Sansa as they broke their fast. _Bloody hell_ …

  Sandor couldn’t even think of what the _meaning_ of what had just transpired between the two could be. He was, at present, too stunned for words. _Yet I managed to control myself_ , he remembered, but he wasn’t sure if that still felt like the right thing to do.

  He tried to remember every single detail of this morning to figure out just _why_ had the little bird had initiated things…

  Sandor had woken up once more curled up around Sansa’s body, as the little bird slept on, a happy little smile playing across her face. He’d disentangled himself from her slowly and gently, musing that he was getting good at this. Every morning they would wake up to find at least one of them finding was hugging the other in a tight embrace, and some mornings both would be clinging to the other. Yet they had come to the unspoken agreement of never mentioning such things.

  Yet this morning he remembered that this had been their last night in Pentos. _Off to Norvos of all places_! He would have laughed at how sweet it sounded had he not feared he would wake Sansa up. _Let her sleep a little longer. She’ll be deprived of a soft bed and feather pillows soon enough._ They had bought two new bedrolls- the best they could afford, yet they couldn’t be compared to a real bed. Sandor had then played the list of the things they were bringing along once more in his head to make sure they weren’t missing anything.

  When Sansa had finally woken up he had gone hard at the sight of her perfect goddess like body stretched across the bed in a very alluring manner. He had stifled the urge to take her in his arms then, yet the sight of her long bare legs was so enticing that it had been hard for him to carry on the small talk Sansa had began the morning with.

  Then out of nowhere she had playfully thrown a pillow at him, an invitation even a blind idiot could read. He’d taken a hold of her ankle and begun torturing her with tickles, having as much fun as he ever did as a little boy with Arwyn. Yet pillow fights and tickles had never had the bloody effect then that they were having on him now. Sandor had been wondering what Sansa would do if he moved the tickles up from her ankle to her knee when she had surprised him beyond words by quickly sitting up for a moment only to drag him back to the bed with her. He had been on top of her when his world had stopped. The only thing that seemed to matter was that Sansa bloody Stark had a tight hold of his tunic and that she was pleading with him not to go away. _Seven hells!_

  So he had stayed, more than happy to grant her wish, getting lost in time in her Tully blue eyes and the sweet warm smell of skin and hair. _How long did we fucking stay like that I’ll never know..!_

  It had taken much determination not to give in to his passions then. Only years of serving the Lannisters and staying silent as they committed atrocities could have prepared him to restrain himself from doing more than just laying on top of the little bird, who all the while gazed up at him, devouring not only his face but his secrets and his soul with those enchanting eyes of her, just as he did the same with her.

  The struggle of keeping his distance had been so strong that his mouth had begun to bloody twitch. _Perfect_ , he’d thought. _Now she’ll push you away in disgust_.

  Yet that was an insult to Sansa. She had managed to see beyond his scars and twitches since before they left Westeros, and if he had been in doubt since then, she had sure shut him up with the way her hand had been drawn to the trembling muscles besides his mouth. Instead of kissing her hand the way he’d wanted he’d leaned into her palm, feeling lost in the best of heavens.

  _Gods what did I do to deserve this glory..?_

  This was clearly the first time Sansa had experienced anything of this nature though. Confusion and wonder had been plain on her face, yet he had caught a sigh of eagerness and something soft in there as well. _I can’t teach you this_ , he’d thought. _Sansa, I fucking want you but I cannot take things further_.

  Sandor had reasoned that since this was all new to Sansa it was the novelty of it that she felt drawn to, rather than to his person. _What if you send everything and everyone to hell and take her now? Will you be able to bear it when she asks you never to touch her again and to take her to White Harbor as soon as you can procure a ship?_

  The answer to that was no, so he had tried to keep his hips and rock hard cock as far away from Sansa’s blasted lower body as possible, arching his body upwards below the waist.

  He had relished in her touch and would have gladly remained with her like that until winter crossed the narrow sea, but reality had reached him first as he saw that Sansa was somehow realizing that if she brought her face closer to his, something new might happen. Her little sigh had been too bloody much; they had crossed the line and stepped into a stolen fantasy from which they must now part from.

  So he had managed to wrench himself away from her tight grasp at long last, barely noticing her stunned and bewildered expression before pacing the room in confusion, trying to find the right words to say to her.

  Nothing occurred to him, probably because he was aching for some sodding relief. He had stepped onto the balcony instead to try and ease his need for a moment, until he could get downstairs to the courtyard and the place he’d taken to going whenever this sort of situation came up. He couldn’t bloody well release where Sansa might hear him, so he had entered the room and told her to change before he mumbled an excuse of seeing to the horses, all the time avoiding her eyes. _If I see her I will have to face whatever she will be feeling at present._ Sandor’s own emotions were so mixed up at the moment that he couldn’t very well try and explain things to her.

 When he’d returned to their rooms to escort her down to breakfast he had decided that the best thing was to ignore the whole situation. _If we talk about it we both might very well regret it soon enough_.

  So now here they sat, breaking their fast, in sullen silence and avoiding each other’s eyes…

 

  It didn’t take Sansa long to give up hope on Sandor addressing what had just occurred between them. She felt a little wounded, though she couldn’t exactly explain _why_ this was so. Yet, later, as they ate their food, Sandor already drinking from a flagon of wine, Sansa came up somehow with the notion that if she started talking as if nothing had happened, then Sandor would think that the experience hadn’t been of consequence to her. _It certainly wasn’t to him, or he would have said something. Look me in the eyes at least…_

  And if this silence lingered on any longer it would start appearing as if they were angry with the other, and Sansa didn’t want that one bit. She wanted things to be as they had been before waking up this morning.  Resigned and a little sad, Sansa Stark pushed the memory of this morning’s pillow fight with Sandor to the back chambers of her mind and locked them safely in there.

  She put on a mask similar to the one she’d learned to don on in King’s Landing and broke the silence between them with a cheerful, “Oh Sandor look! Two little dwarves have just entered the inn. Don’t they remind you of someone?”

  Sandor seemed to take the hint of a parley quick enough. He turned around to look at the newcomers, his brow suddenly wrinkled up with a frown. “Seven bloody hells! I didn’t think it possible there was a single dwarf out there who looked uglier than the Imp, yet it appears I was very wrong! There isn’t one but two.”

  Sansa pleaded with him to keep quiet. “Oh Sandor hush! They’ll hear you.”

  Sandor laughed. “And what if they do, little bird? Think they’ll come demanding me to apologize when there’s the risk of picking a fight they cannot win?”

  Sansa gave Sandor a look. “I know you. You wouldn’t hurt them. You might mock them with your words but you aren’t vicious and cruel the way Joffrey was.”

  Sandor chuckled hoarsely. “Thank bloody hells for that..! Now little bird, if you’re finished with your food I think the time has come to leave this place.”

  Sansa suddenly got very nervous. She nodded in understanding and together they climbed the stairs up to their room one last time to pick up their things. Everything had been hidden in their saddlebags and some bags tied to them. When Sandor began to don his armor back on Sansa silently moved to help him pretending that nothing was amiss. Sandor finally seemed to want to catch her eyes, but she purposely didn’t meet his gaze.

  As they were about to close the door of the room in which they had experienced so many simple and beautiful things, Sansa felt the desire to gaze upon the view from their little balcony for one last time.

  Pentos was a sea of tilted roofs, and in the great port beyond fishing boats could be seen moving across the bay, their sails rustling with the wind, their masts looking imposing even at this distance.  She let her eyes wonder above the markets and palaces and temple, resting one last time on the Gardens of Vente before she sighed deeply, closing her eyes and taking it all in. _I’ll remember this place and these days till the day I die._

When she opened them again Sansa turned around to see Sandor staring at her, a wicked grin across his face, and his hand on the pommel of his swordbelt.

  “All ready?” he asked her cheerfully.

  “All ready,” she nodded in agreement.

 

  They left Pentos by the Sunrise Gate in the direction of the Rhoyne, Sansa riding Nan and Sandor riding Stranger. They weren’t the only ones leaving the city though. They had to stand in a long line for some time before their turn to reach the gates came. When the city inspectors saw Sandor they frowned suspiciously, making Sansa’s heart stop beating. _Please oh please, don’t let them know that he is the Hound!_ If word had reached the Free Cities that there was a price for them both they would be lost. The inspectors turned to look at Sansa who willed herself to hide all her fears and misgivings from her face just as Sandor’s hand discreetly landed on the pommel of his sword.

  The men must have been convinced that nothing was wrong since they finally signaled for them to leaves as they moved to the persons behind them. Sansa sighed in relief and looked over at Sandor who winked and grinned knowingly at her. She returned the smile widely before turning back to look at Pentos for the last time in heavens knew how long _. I’ll miss this city so much… I felt safe here._

  Hours later the only landscape around them was rolling grasslands in the distance as they rode on the wide Valyrian roads which were made of stone and thousands of years old. The roads ran straight as a sewing needle or an arrow to the horizon. The smell of the sea had long ago disappeared to be replaced by the smell of trees. Though the Sunrise Gate had been crowded earlier on, the roads were so wide and long that at some point or another during the day everyone seemed to settled to their own pace, so that now Sansa and Sandor felt quite alone with no people to be seen behind them or before them, save for a single solitary figure atop a donkey far ahead. Their saddle bags were bulging with cheese and sausages, flour and salted ham, yet they hadn’t been able to touch any of it at all since leaving the city. Sansa knew they had to take care to ration their provisions but it was a little hard not to think about eating something when her belly began to make little rumbling noises in complaint, and even more so after weeks and weeks of being able to eat more than was her wish if she so wanted it.

  _Oh stop it, silly! This isn’t as bad as the Kingswood, and_ _we couldn’t have stayed in Pentos for much longer_ , she tried to remind herself for the hundredth time this day. _It was wonderful but too close to King’s Landing. Sooner or later we might have been discovered and then what? No, it’s better this way. It’ll be tough at first but in the end Norvos awaits… Great Norvos_ , she thought, excited. It sounded so foreign and mysterious that Sansa could almost close her eyes and see it.

  Neither Sandor nor she spoke much that day. Sansa had no idea what thoughts occupied Sandor’s head, but for her time went by with her musings of Norvos, smiles appearing every time she thought about how fine it was to ride Nan (though she wasn’t blind to the fact that in a day or two she would be feeling quite the opposite) and of the pillow fight that had happened earlier on.

  At long last, night finally arrived. They decided to rest for the night beside a well so they could re-fill their skins and rest the horses. Sandor claimed that since the road was so smooth it wouldn’t be that bad to sleep on the ground, and Sansa could only hope he was right. She smiled up at him when he told her that with obvious concern in his voice, and thought she had reassured him for he returned the smile.

  Soon enough the horses were watered and fed and hobbled for the night and Sandor had made a warm fire though the night wasn’t chilly. Sansa had been off to make her water some distance away from the spot, both looking around nervously for any vipers that would strike at her from the ground, and smiling at the memories that this brought of their time in the Kingswood. It actually felt nice to sit by the fire under the stars.

  When she returned to their little camp Sansa smiled when she saw that Sandor had laid their bedrolls next to each other. _So our sleeping arrangements haven’t changed despite this morning, then..?_ She wondered. _Excellent!_

  It wasn’t only that she wanted to keep on sleeping by Sandor, but also that apart from keeping warm with each other’s bodies when the fire died out, in this strange far away land it was nice to think she wasn’t all alone in the big wide world. Sandor made her feel so at ease, yet she chose not to remark on the bedrolls’ positions.

  Sansa went to sit on her bedroll and folded her hands in her lap delicately waiting for their supper to be ready, humming to herself.

  After a few verses Sandor turned to look at her and rasped, “Sing me the song of Florian, little bird.”

  Sansa hoped the darkness could hide her blushing cheeks, yet she smiled. “If you say please, I will.”

  Sandor looked loath to do so, yet in the end he mumbled a barely audible please, so Sansa began her song; _their_ song in a way. When she was done Sandor stared at the fire for a long moment, brooding.

  “Did your mother ever sing to you?” she heard herself ask him.

  His eyes quickly met hers, yet in the end he only shrugged. “I suppose she did, but I can’t remember. She died when I was too young. My grandfather read Arwyn and me stories though.”

  Sansa feared to ask him what was on her mind, yet she had to know. “Sandor… did- did your grandfather… how did he die?”

  Sandor looked at his hands then. “He didn’t die thanks to Gregor if that is what you’re wondering, Sansa. No, the old man died in his sleep when I was about six I think, and he died content. Or at least as content as one can die when you know your family’s name will live on thanks to the likes of Gregor.”

  Sansa thought Sandor was very mistaken. “I’m happy he died peacefully of old age, but you have it all wrong! I’m sure by what you’ve told me of him that he died happy knowing that the family’s name was going to live on through _you_.”

  Sandor looked at her with something akin to astonishment in his eyes before he almost laughed. “Well, he did die before I was burned and realized what knights were all about so he probably thought I would one day marry and have children and try to be as good a knight as I bloody could.”

  The notion of Sandor marrying and having children was new and strange to Sansa. “I think,” she began slowly. “I think you would have made your grandfather proud had that been your fate.”

  Sandor looked impressed by her praise but his nasty mood was back. “If you say so, little bird… Just don’t start thinking on whom you could marry me off once the war is done and your safely back at Winterfell. I won’t have you thanking me for my services with a wife of your choosing.”

  Sansa giggled. She could not imagine ever doing anything of the sort! _The time I would have to spend coaxing the bride to not fear Sandor would tax even the most resolute of wills. It only worked for us because we were thrown into such hard circumstances I guess_ … “Oh all right,” she assured him. “I promise I’ll never try to find you a bride.”

  As they hungrily devoured their sausages Sansa and Sandor sat side by side pondering the maps of Essos they’d brought with them, contemplating the road ahead of them, surrounded with possibilities for new paths and journeys were they to change their minds; they didn’t feel like changing them, though. At least for Sansa it was just nice to look at a map and imagine where she was at present. _I’m a crazy little bird indeed_! She thought, resigned yet content.

  “Sandor?” she suddenly said.

  “Yes, little bird?”

  “How old are you?”

  Sandor frowned at her. “Why?”

  “Because I think you might be younger than you look.”

  Sandor looked amused by that. “Meaning what exactly? Are you saying I look as old as Maester Pycelle?”

  “Oh no!” Sansa chuckled, quickly trying to reassure him that wasn’t at all true. “I didn’t mean so old! At least less than five and thirty.”

  Sandor arched an eyebrow at her. “Not even close. I’ll be turning eight and twenty soon.”

  “Really?” she said amazed. “That isn’t so dreadfully old!” _Though there was a time when I wouldn’t have thought so._ She remembered that Lord Beric Dondarrion had been in his early twenties when she and Jeyne had first seen him, and the man had been handsome enough, yet he had looked so dreadfully old to her inexperienced eyes…

  “It isn’t,” Sandor agreed. “How old are you?”

  “I’ll be three and ten soon,” she informed him happily.

  Sandor snorted. “A girl.”

  “Well, I’m not claiming I am a woman grown, but neither am I the little girl you once knew. You said so yourself some weeks ago that I was starting to look different, remember?”

  Sandor was clearly growing uncomfortable with the conversation. “What the hell do our ages have to do with anything, Sansa?”

  She shrugged her shoulders gracefully. “Nothing… I just thought that if our name days weren’t too far apart we could celebrate them once we reach Norvos.”

  Sandor looked about to laugh cruelly at the notion, but instead he only said, “As you wish..:”

 When they finally lay down side by side for the night beneath the thick woolen blankets they’d brought with them, without speaking they both looked up at the thousands of stars up above in the skies. _They make you feel so tiny..!_

  “What are you thinking about, Sansa?” Sandor asked her, his voice being the only sound for miles around.

  “I was thinking that I am very lucky to be alive and sharing all of this with you. And you?”

  “I was remembering when my old maester taught me the names we know the stars by.”

  They recited the names together after that, as well as discovering some shining new figures up there: it was funny how a bunch of stars could look like a castle to Sansa, while to Sandor the same stars looked like some giant being slain. It was a very enjoyable night for them both.

  Just as they were drifting off to sleep though Sansa whispered, “Sandor why would you always speak to me so harshly back in King’s Landing? Why were you always so hateful?” _It makes me sad we lost so much time of getting to discover each other just because you frightened me…_ she thought.

  They looked at each other in the dark then. Sandor’s breathing seemed to be lulling her into some spell. Some moments passed in which he said nothing, only looked at her, but in the end he answered, “You would have been glad of the hateful things I did one day when you were the queen, and I was all that stood between you and your beloved king.”

  Sansa could find no words to let him know what hearing that meant to her. _Had I been forced to marry Joffrey at least there would have been one person in the Red Keep who cared about me…_ Sansa’s hand searched for Sandor’s under the covers and took a tight hold of it, which was unnecessary since Sandor could have pried away his hand had he so wished it. Instead though, he brought their entwined hands to rest atop his chest, encouraging Sansa to huddle close to him. She rested her head on his shoulder and slept.

  The next morning they stayed long enough to water the horses and have a quick cold breakfast before they were on the road again. Their days passed in much the same manner; many days later as the quite small Velvet Hills, which were famous for their ancient mines, and the ruins of Ghoyan Drohe drew near, they had been trotting along on foot near midday as a mercilessly hot sun was cooking them up in their light clothes, a sun which had forced Sandor to take of his armor and wear only his mail shirt for protection, when Sandor suddenly put his hand to her shoulder in warning. He handed her Stranger’s reins silently just as Sansa noticed his free hand reaching out for the pommel of his sword. Sansa gulped and squinted at the distance. Slowly they crept forward until the truth of what lay before them hit them both, making them look at each other in astonishment. For ahead by the side of the road, two little children were faring quite badly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please, do review if you feel like it! :)


	11. The Crossroads of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both of await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimers:  
> \- I don't gain anything by doing this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And both the title of the fic and the title of this chapter belong to Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)  
> *My betas: swiftsnowmane, onborrowedwings & gingerbeer48, once again thank you for everything girls!! :)  
> *The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.
> 
> My phenomenal betas: swiftsnowmane, onborrowedwings & gingerbeer48!!!!! A special thanks to you three for helping me out with this tricky chapter! Dearest readers, this was SUCH a tough chapter to write for some reason (i made 3 diffrent versions for this) but thankfully the lovely betas and I have all agreed that this chapter is worthy now for posting. So i really hope you like it! :D

  Sandor and Sansa had just stepped into something they were never meant to see. Two filthy looking men were robbing a little party ahead of them, making Sandor tense besides her, drawing out his sword.

  That was enough to get the attention of the attackers, and as they turned their heads to squint at them through the distance, Sansa got a better view of how matters stood: Two little children who looked alike were crying and bleeding from some blows to their heads. They looked on at an elderly man who had a knife pointed at his throat by one of the robbers. The second attacker was looking through some sacks for what Sansa supposed was anything of value, yet he stopped quickly when Sandor drew his sword.

  Sansa’s heart went to her throat as the prospect of losing Sandor flew across her mind. Her hand shot for his, grabbing it tightly, as she looked up at Sandor, the burned side of his face to her. Sandor quickly looked down at her in return. Seeing the fear in her eyes, he gave her a small reassuring smile and pressed her hand back.

  “Seven hells little bird, you’re not afraid, are you?” he asked, breaking into a rasping, raucous laughter.

  Sansa gazed into his grey eyes, remembering the Hound. How stupid to think these two skinny men would stand a chance against Sandor Clegane, who was one of the fiercest warriors in all the Seven Kingdoms.

  “I mean,” he went on, teasingly “I know it’s been a while since I’ve killed anyone, but to think I am in danger against this scrawny pair of rats makes me feel old and useless.”

  Sansa must not have managed to hide her apprehension all that well for she could see he was still trying to make her feel better. So she smiled for him a little, nodding her head twice to assure him that now she had faith in him, since she didn’t seem to be able to speak.

  “Stay here with the horses,” he told her.

  “What the fuck are you two staring at?” yelled one of the robbers in a thick bastard Valyrian accent, making Sansa jump a little, startled.

  Sandor let go of her hand then, gave the brigands a long hard look, and started walking in their direction, yelling at them to release the old man and the children and fuck off.

  That made the robbers laugh, before they screamed back at Sandor that it wasn’t his bloody business. Then they saw Sansa.

  “Tell you what, we’ll trade you this whole lot, less what we’ve already taken from them, and you give us that pretty little thing behind you. The horses you’ll give us in good faith,” said the shortest of them.

  Sandor was now getting closer to them, testing the weight of the longsword in his hand, slicing at the air, making them shoot nervous glances between them as he drew closer, while old man and children stared at Sandor with incredulous eyes.

  “Uzzmat, go and finish him and you’ll get your choice of the children,” the short man instructed the other.

  Uzzmat’s eyes had grown as big and wide as saucers. “Are you mad, Kamaltz? Look at the _size_ of him!”

  “You’re just as tall!”

  “So? I don’t have a face like that. He looks dangerous.”

  “I don’t give a fuck. Go finish him!”

  To his credit Uzzmat did try to fight Sandor, catching his blows and turning them as best he could. Sandor was putting his massive strength behind every move, and even as Sansa tried to keep the horses at bay, she couldn’t keep her eyes from him. She knew just by looking at his face that he was enjoying this, and maybe even prolonging it because he’d missed it, making her remember how frightened she’d been of him back in King’s Landing. _He looks as mad as on the day he saved me from the riots. He saved me then as he is now saving these poor people_.

  There was a horrible tense moment when Uzzmat managed to run away as Sandor’s back was to him. Sansa stood frozen to the spot as the man came running her, a wild look in his eyes, blade raised high, and her heart stopped. She didn’t know if Sandor would reach her on time before this man hurt her, and just as her mind quickly asked herself why wasn’t she running away, the strangest and most unexpected thing happened. Stranger, whose reins she still held, kicked the man Uzzmat in his chest, sending him flying backwards, before neighing loudly and moving to stand before Sansa, shielding her away from more danger.

  A sob escaped Sansa, as she moved closer to the horse, just as Sandor laughed out loud.

  “Well done, Stranger!” Sandor remarked, in a tone as casual as the one Septa Mordane had used on her when she did good in her lessons.

  Uzzmat, who had been thrown to the floor, sputtering blood and some broken teeth, tried to stand up at the exact moment when Sandor decided to end his entertainment, for in the blink of an eye he cut Uzzmat clean in half with one swing of his sword, blood splashing to cover Sandor’s face. Sansa felt like fainting, but kept her eyes upon the dead man, even as she tried hard not to retch. Stranger and Nan chose that moment to shy away at the smell of blood, making her finally tear her eyes away from the horrible sight.

  “Now you’re next,” Sandor growled back at Kamaltz in Valyrian. The brigand hadn’t let go of his hold on the old man all this time, yet both of them looked as if they had forgotten everything but Sandor.

  Sandor laughed and started to stride forward to Kamaltz, yet in that instant a gasp escaped Kamaltz, as blood began to trickle down his mouth. His hold on the blade he was pointing at the old man’s throat slackened as he fell sideways to the ground, dead. Behind him one of the little children stood with a knife in his hand, staring at the man he’d just killed with a grim satisfaction, before throwing his arms around the old man in a tight embrace.

  Sandor looked just as startled as she did to see this boy killing a man, but he didn’t remark upon it for the same reasons she didn’t. Even at a young age, it was natural to want to revenge yourself upon those who wished to hurt your loved ones. Now that both robbers were dead Sansa’s eyes searched Sandor, to find him already staring at her. Without another moment being wasted, Sansa began walking towards him, just as he did the same, and though he was covered in blood, she threw her arms around him, shuddering.

  Sandor wrapped his arms around her as well, crushing her to his chest, running his hand through her hair; nothing had ever felt better. Sandor kissed the top of her head, before whispering, “It’s all right now, little bird. It’s over and done with.”

  Sansa just embraced him even more, her hands gripping his mail shirt, as a drowning person would cling to life. Sandor then chuckled as he saw Stranger and Nan moving closer towards them.

 

\--

 

  The moon was very bright that night, but neither Sansa nor Sandor nor the old man and the children paid it much attention. They had made their camp by a small stream some miles away from where they’d left the bodies of Kamaltz and Uzzmat. The old man was roasting a hare for them over a fire as Sansa delicately cleaned the cuts and bruises the robbers had left on the children’s faces, while Sandor fed the horses.

  When everyone was done with their tasks they sat by their little fire to devour the roast hare Sandor had caught for them earlier, Sandor began asking questions. It turned out the old man was the father of the two little boys, and that they had been living in the outsides of Pentos until some weeks when the children’s mother died giving birth to a stillborn girl. The old man had decided to return to his home city of Volantis so that his sons could grow up with his family when his time to join his wife in the afterlife came. Once they reached the Rhoyne they planned to turn south, the old man informed them.

  For a few days, they traveled together with the old man and his sons until the Rhoyne came into view. The children didn’t speak a word of the Common Tongue, while their father only knew a few words.  Sandor and Sansa knew High and even Low Valyrian fairly well, yet in the time Sandor and Sansa had spend in Pentos, they’d managed to learn enough of the dialect people spoke in the streets and outskirts of Pentos, so that it wasn’t so hard to make themselves understood to the little family.

  Sandor offered them protection though, even if it was only for a few days, while they offered a diversion from the monotony of traversing alone on these lonely, ancient Valyrian roads, where not many travelers would be seen for days and days without end. Yet, even so, Sansa wasn’t as sad as she thought she would be when the time came to bid their farewells.

  Sansa’s moonblood had come again some days after she and Sandor passed the ruins of Ghoyan Drohe, the smoldering reminder of what the dragons of Valyria could inflict upon the Freehold, but this time she had her cloths with her and she hoped no one had noticed anything. Her tummy did hurt her a bit, but not as it had that dreadful first time.

  As they traveled deeper into Essos they encountered occasional minor hazards; vipers, scorpions and the occasional wild dog were the only problems they had had to contend with. Their food supplies wouldn’t run out any time soon, yet Sandor had decided to continue hunting rabbits and gamebirds, just in case. Still, the food they had to eat didn’t bother her when compared to the way saddle sores pained her. Sansa whole body ached at times twice as much as it ever had done back in the Kingswood, making the pain barely tolerable.

  Nan and Stranger were growing closer as well, and the big black stallion no longer barred his teeth or pinned his ears at the gentle chestnut mare, for which Sansa was grateful. It was hard for her to recognize Sandor’s horse as the terrifying destrier who had once been every stablehand’s nightmare back at Maegor’s, yet Sansa liked to think that just as Sandor’s terrifying rage was soothed the more came to know each other, so was Nan helping to calm Stranger.

  As days and nights came and went, Sansa would find herself at times building castles in the sky about what a wonderful place Norvos would turn out to be _. Back in Westeros we think that all the people in the Free Cities are savages, but we couldn’t have been more mistaken._ Her experiences in Pentos had given her a taste of the freedom that some of the people there lived with every single day of their lives, a freedom that was the result of a different mindset and upbringing, and in some ways Sansa had come to envy them. She had not yet encountered the dreaded slavers, or the fabled wild Dothraki, and could scarce believe in them. The ragged pair of thieves were the worst sort they had met thus far, and Sansa hoped it would stay that way.

  Yet, falling in love with Essos at times disturbed her. It was very upsetting to have no way of knowing what was happening in the Seven Kingdoms, nor to know how her lady mother or Robb were fairing, and yet Sansa constantly reminded herself that this was the path she had chosen for the present. She had to move forward.

  Still, there were many nights when she would lie awake staring up at the skies, pondering what her family believed had happened to her. _Do they think me dead?_ It was a strange thought. Yet, in a way, it was good for her and Sandor to be ghosts to the Seven Kingdoms for the time being if they meant to survive the war. _It doesn’t matter what they think as long as they are alive._

  But when the war was over and Robb had won his crown and his kingdom, what would it mean for her? She found herself imagining herself back in Westeros (in Winterfell) at times, telling her mother and Robb that it wasn’t wrong for her to share a bed with her sworn shield, or have a relationship that crossed the delicate borders of their stations. She almost laughed at it, before she imagined their horrified reactions to these things. She would then sigh in resignation, reminding herself that she was a Stark, and certain things would be expected of her once she and Sandor were back in the North- things that her forebears before her had lived with all their lives, and she wouldn’t be the exception. She had a duty and had to honor her family and her House. _That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself at present._ _When I am back in my old bedroom at Winterfell, all alone, the memories of these times will warm me up as faithful companions through the long nights, as the winds of the north blow through the window and into my room, sounding like the howling of wolves_.

  _There will come a time though when I will no longer be expected to have a bed and room all to myself. I’ll have to marry one day_. It was silly and sad really how she had once longed with all her heart when she was little to be married off to some high lord, only to end up with that fate most likely coming true when, now, she didn’t think she wanted it anymore. _Yet how could the world ever understand that I would prefer not to marry immediately because the one who I wish to be at my side at all times is Sandor Clegane?_   _I can’t even bring myself to tell Sandor that I don’t only cry for my family, but for having our friendship change and misunderstood by everyone back home; from the cook to the Prince of Dorne; from Jon at the Wall to the masters at the Citadel at Oldtown…_

  Such thoughts made Sansa’s head and heart ache some nights, even though the matter was very simple. Tears came, unbidden, and try as she might, she could not hold them back. Yet in those nights, Sandor would stir silently in the dark beside her, and she would feel strong arms carefully encircling her as she cried for not only her long-lost family, but for the realization that things wouldn’t always be able to be this way between Sandor and her.

  They would always place their bedrolls side by side, as they both remembered and secretly longed for the long peaceful nights in Pentos when they shared the same bed. If Sansa was honest with herself, another reason why she wanted to finally reach Norvos was so that their old sleeping arrangement could continue as it once had been- in a soft bed, not on the hard ground.

 

 

\--

 

  The road from Pentos to Norvos turned out to be longer than Sansa could have ever expected.

  “How many weeks have we been traveling?” she wondered once out loud, but not even Sandor could tell for a certainty. Ever since they entered the Hills of Norvos, Sansa had no notion of how much time had passed since they left Pentos, or since they first saw the Rhoyne. They weren’t lost, they were certain of that thanks to their maps, but where exactly they were in that vast wilderness, or how much longer it would be till they finally saw Great Norvos, they couldn’t be sure.

  The valleys, hills and mountains here in this part of the world were just as desolate as the ancient Valyrian roads had turned out to be, but every step they took made Sansa swear to herself repeatedly they would stay in Norvos for at least half a year. _Enough time to prepare ourselves before returning to Pentos through this long and wearisome journey._ It had certainly been nice enough at first, back when they considered this as a leisured journey, but the endless days and nights without end of speaking with and meeting no one else were starting to wear on their nerves.

 _I suppose there isn’t any one here because everyone prefers to live in the cities_ , was the only answer she could find for this unnatural lack of people.

  When Sansa saw the first terraced manor up at the top of a hill she almost gave Nan her head in her desire to meet with people again, but of course to draw such attention would have been folly, so they passed it by. Sansa hoped she wouldn’t regret not even asking who lived there.

  As for Sandor, he had long ago run out of wine, and, combined with the monotonous nature of this part of the journey, the taste of having only water to quench his thirst was starting to make him moody as they rode and ate and rested.

  One windy night, just as Sansa was beginning to despair that there weren’t any villages or towns nearby, an inn greeted them at the foot of yet another hill, where three crossroads met.

  Though no villages or towns looked to be near the inn, Sansa saw it was still a crowded place, for all the stalls at the stables beside the building were full, and the short thin lad who tended the stable said in Low Valyrian that Nan and Stranger were going to need to share a stall.

  The inn was smaller than the one they had been living in at Pentos, but it was much bigger than the _Stormed King_ , and it was more crowded than either of them. Sansa couldn’t keep her eyes off the worn out travelers who were sitting at the tables in the common room; blue eyed Lyseni and a couple of purpled-beard Tyroshi. Near the big fireplace some squat hairy men looked her up and down and there was even a bald pale middle-aged man in green robes, who was talking to a beautiful tall woman from the Summer Isles.

  Copper-skinned girls were serving the guests, and a man with a salt and pepper beard whom Sansa suspected to be the serving girls’ father came up to them to ask how many rooms they’d required.

  Sandor replied gruffly in his best Valyrian, that only one would be needed. The innkeeper provided them with one that was a bit cramped, yet they took it all the same. After they had gone upstairs and dumped their things in the room, the growling in their bellies drove them back downstairs to the common room to find a hot dinner.

  They chose an alcove halfway through the common room and ordered their food. There was duck and beer to be had tonight.

  “I wanted wine but this will do just as well tonight,” Sandor commented as he took a large sip of the brown colored beer. “How far away is Norvos?” he asked the innkeep.

  “About five days from here.”

  “Good,” Sandor said, tossing the man a coin for the good news.

  Sansa tried to eat her duck as delicately as possible, and she decided she would have another mug of beer after she finished this one. She had never liked the taste of beer, since wine was much finer, and even though this was very thick, she’d been weeks and weeks on the road with nothing but water, and she was prepared to let go of her distaste for it this night. For the first time, she found herself enjoying it. Sandor had already finished his in one long gulp.

  They ate their dinner mostly in comfortable silence; after such a long time on the road with nobody else but themselves for company, they had grown used to it.

\--

 

  An hour passed, and Sandor was mildly surprised to find himself and Sansa finishing yet another tankard of beer together. Sandor knew it would be wiser if they headed to bed soon so they could get a decent rest, but it was nice to have the little bird sitting beside him, the unburned side of his face to her, while her head rested on his shoulder, their knees touching underneath the table.

  At present they were silent, as they watched the common room emptying slowly. Yet there wasn’t any need to say anything, just sitting with her was enough to make him happy and well content.

  Some of the Ibbenese by the fire were beginning to sing a song in their foreign tongue, but the way they were behaving left no doubt that it was a good tavern song.

  “Sandor…?” his little bird suddenly chirped.

  “Yes?”

  “It feels like we are at the end of the world in a way, doesn’t it?” she commented.

  “How so?” he asked her.

  “I don’t know… We are just so isolated up here in the mountains that it feels as if we are far away from anyone’s grasp. I mean, I know Lord Varys must have spies after us, yet as we sit here, so far away from everything and everyone we knew, that doesn’t seem to matter or frighten me as it should.”

  “Have I told you before that you are a crazy little bird?”

  Sansa laughed merrily at that. “Only about a hundred times.”

  Sandor gave out a bark of laughter before Sansa went on, “But I don’t mind it. If it were anyone else saying that it would be wrong, but with you it just _feels_ right. It always has.”

  Not knowing what to say to that Sandor grabbed the tankard of beer and drank long and deep. It was good to be able to drink again. When he put the tankard on the table Sansa raised her head from his shoulder again, stretching, only to end up exclaiming as she laughed, “Oh, you have beer foam on your beard!”

  Sandor frowned at her, wondering how that could be funny, as it happened more often than not. He moved his hand upwards to clean the foam from his face only to have Sansa take a sudden tight hold of his wrist, pulling herself slightly closer to him.

  He looked at her questioningly and before he could even so much as blink, she said, “Let me do it.”

  With her free hand she brought her thumb up to his cheek, brushing away some of the remaining foam delicately. Sandor tensed beneath her touch, his eyes locked in hers, forcing himself for the thousandth time to remember not to give in to the urge of taking her in his arms. This close intimacy between them, which Sansa usually began, had never failed to provoke strong feelings in him.

  After a couple of gentle caresses Sansa’s fingers crept closer to his mouth, until they stopped on his pressed lips. She brushed the tip of her finger timidly across his bottom lip, going further than the limit where his lip ended and the burned flush began. He barely registered that a pretty blush was creeping up her neck.

  At that action he was aware that all the sounds from the common room had ceased to register in his mind, and that time had stopped as he sat there; rigid, staring at Sansa, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted, her hand on his face. _When did she start taking control?_ he asked himself, fleetingly, as he drowned in her pretty Tully blue eyes. The fact that they were in a room full of people under these sort of circumstances for the first time slightly crossed his mind for the first time, but the sight of Sansa’s face drawing nearer to his as she held his gaze drove the bloody world out of his head, arousal growing stronger within him.

  Sansa finally lowered her eyes, and though she was leaning closer to him, and whispered so faintly, “There’s some more here,” he barely heard it, for in a heartbeat she was kissing the rest of the foam off his scratchy beard dangerously close to the corner of his mouth.

  Sandor’s eyes could only see the top of her head and occasionally her long curly eyelashes, but his eyes were the only thing in him that was moving. He was frozen to the spot, and Sansa somehow took his unresisting behavior as encouragement, for soon she sat higher up in her seat, planting little kisses here and there on his face.

  _The little bird’s kissing me_ , Sandor thought before he inhaled sharply, not even realizing what that could _mean_. At the sound that escaped his mouth, Sansa broke the contact of her lips on his face to look him directly to his eyes, as if asking him if he would like it if she went on. They were so close that their breaths mingled in the common room’s hot air, and as Sansa’s hand moved down slowly from his burned cheek to the nape of his neck, his cock hardened, pressing tightly against his breeches.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered in a soothing tone which purred honey over his ears, making Sandor realize he was trembling. Sansa let go of her grip on his wrist only to intertwine her fingers through his.

  He started to close the gap between them, ready to claim her mouth, when they were suddenly wrenched back into the present when one of the little Ibbenese crashed against the table in front of theirs, jolting them both out of the moment.

  All around them the other guests at the inn were either laughing or yelling angry things at the man sprawled hurt on the floor, or at each other. No one was paying them any mind, so they did not see Sandor glowering at them, wishing he could shove his sword up their arses! Sandor looked back at his little bird, the most beautiful woman in the world, whose cheeks were flushed in a pretty deep blush, only to find her looking at him with eyes wide as saucers. In her look there was tenderness and a bit of breathless longing, something he could not really remember someone ever bestowing upon him before. It made him feel exposed, as if his vulnerability was suddenly giving away all his secrets. _Yet it was the little bird seeing this, so it didn’t really matter, did it?_ _I’ve been telling her my life’s secrets ever since that blasted tourney held in her father’s honor anyways…_

  They were still holding hands. Rational thoughts managed to weave their way to his mind as she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, making him realize that this wasn’t a safe place for Sansa to be. _If these poxy sons of whores get into a fight, she’ll be at risk_. What had he been thinking, allowing her to kiss him like that in a room full of drunken men? He felt the cold animal rage he’d lived with for years creeping back to him, making him want to kill someone. _It’s been long enough_.

  So Sandor gulped and rasped hoarsely, “Come,” before leading her upstairs by the hand he still held tightly in his own, as hard as he’d ever been, glancing menacingly at everyone present. She followed unresisting and when they reached the bedroom Sandor led her into the dark room, all the way to the bed.

  Sansa was quiet now, yet she didn’t look scared at all, or unresisting. In fact, she looked curious as to what he would do next as she stopped beside him, looking for a moment at the bed and then at him. Sandor made himself look into her eyes then, and seriously considered what would happen if he finally kissed her- and did more- now that they were alone.

  He couldn’t bring himself to say so though, or to even move as Sansa sat on the edge of the bed, her hand pulling him closer to her. The way she was looking at him reminded him of how she had looked at him back in her bed on the night of their flight, at the moment when she had seemed to lose her fear for him and cupped his burned wet cheek. He had almost taken her before that, when she’d closed her eyes in fear after he’d told her he could keep her safe, an act which had driven him to put a blade at her pretty white neck. _But then the little bird sang…_

  It had happened some time ago, and things with the little bird were completely different now from their brief interactions in King’s Landing, when Sandor had, despite himself, sought her out in the deep dark corridors of the Red Keep. Nonetheless, no matter how much time passed, or how things changed between them, if Sandor did something that brought that look of fear into Sansa’s eyes again, he knew he couldn’t bear it.

  _You aren’t meant for her in this way_ , he reminded himself _. She may think so, and since you can’t seem to tell her she is wrong, you should just bloody leave_. Yet he didn’t. Sandor stood besides the bed looking down at his little bird, holding her hand, while Sansa in return sat at the edge of the bed, looking up at him with great expectations as to what she thought she wanted.

  After a long moment Sandor disentangled his calloused hand from Sansa’s gentle little fingers, only to bring it up to her cheekbone, brushing it lightly before he pulled behind her ear a stray lock of hair.

   “I’ll go check on the horses. Go get some sleep,” he told her before turning away, leaving their room. He needed to go get some long-awaited release outside, and would even welcome a fight with the men below. _I’d kill them all and maybe it would make me remember who I am, and that I almost ruined everything and kissed her back_! And who knows what else he might have done had the fight not broken out, making him remember that they were in an inn full of men with the same needs as him…

 _She may view me in a completely different light now, but I am only a buggering friend and a sword to her. A very dear and esteemed protector, but not anything else…_. _It’s better this way_ , he told himself, not really believing it, as he walked downstairs, as far away from his dangerously beautiful little bird as he could get.

 

\--

 

  They left the following morning, and Sansa felt worse than on the occasion they’d had their pillow fight. _We almost kissed_ … And then, something more had passed between them up in their room, but what Sansa couldn’t stop thinking about was the kiss that hadn’t happened. Those words were just as unbelievable as the first time she realized what she was aiming for when she started cleaning the foam from his scarred face with her fingers, perceiving that he smelled of beer and horses and leather, and as he leaned in closer to her towards the end, before they were interrupted… She had never kissed anybody before, yet last night she’d known deep down that the kiss was about to happen somehow. _It would have been my first_ _kiss_ , she realized… Theon Greyjoy had once asked her if he could kiss her, but she hadn’t allowed it. When Ser Waymar Royce had stopped by Winterfell on his way to the Wall, Sansa had fancied herself in love with him and had day-dreamed the entire time he was there of how it would feel when he stole a kiss from her; but he hadn’t. Then came Joffrey, but oddly enough, not even in those first days when she thought him good and kind and merciful had they ever shared something deeper than a peck on the cheek, for which she could not thank enough both the old gods and the new.

  _I wouldn’t have minded if the Knight of Flowers had kissed me though_. Sansa could still recall Ser Loras Tyrell’s beautiful face and lean young body, so different from Sandor’s… That made her think of something she had never wondered about before. _Has Sandor kissed someone before..?_

  _Surely he has_ , _but how?_ She remembered how the woman with purple eyes hidden behind a mask back in Pentos had gazed at Sandor, drinking in his warrior’s body…

  To even think that she had _wanted_ to kiss Sandor felt dangerous. It made her feel as if she was discovering a new side to herself, and she was seeing Sandor in a new light as well. Sansa didn’t know exactly why she’d wanted to kiss him, only… at the moment it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world; it had felt _right_.

  The innkeeper hadn’t lied to them; it took them five more days until they finally saw Great Norvos in the distance, for which Sansa was very glad. These past couple of days had been so upsetting and confusing and tiring that she longed to reach the city and try to start things over with Sandor. Not that she’d let her troubles show.

  The morning they left the inn, Sandor had been completely silent on the matter and hadn’t been able to meet her eyes any more than she could his. _Maybe he is ashamed_ , she thought, crestfallen, as she wondered just why that upset her so. _He is Sandor, my sworn shield- my truest friend!_ At first, Sansa was sure he had also wished for the kiss to happen, but in a couple of days she had convinced herself  that if Sandor had had any desire to kiss her, it had been because of all the beer he’d drunk. _Perhaps that’s why I thought he was going to kiss me the night we escaped. It must have been the wine on that occasion as well…_

  In the following days, thoughts of this sort went round and round in her head, plaguing many of her waking moments. _You’re being foolish Sansa Stark_ , was the conclusion she came up with in the end. _Sandor doesn’t fancy you in that fashion, or he would have said or done something already_ ; _even a look or a nod of the head would have been much better._ _Stop this now before you make a complete fool of yourself with him_.

  That evening, they stopped at the edge of Norvos, the final leg of their long journey. Sansa had made up her mind to once again behave as if nothing odd has happened, though her heart and mind ended up not heeding that fine notion.

  From a distance, Norvos took her breath away. “It looks beautiful, doesn’t it?” she remarked to Sandor as he laid their bedrolls side by side.

  Though their sleeping arrangements hadn’t changed during their journey, Sansa could feel Sandor trying to keep his distance. Sandor gave her a genuine grin then, making Sansa realize how much she’d missed that sight.

  “It looks fine from her, but I’d rather we were already within its gates. I cannot wait to sleep in a bed and drink some decent wine...”

  Sansa laughed. “Do you think we’ll have as much fun as we did in Pentos?”

  “I’ll make sure we do,” he promised her, taking hold of her hand so he could lead her to their now ready bedrolls.

  As Sandor took off his boots Sansa produced the two little wooden figures she’d bought back in Pentos of the Maid and the Warrior.

  Sandor looked at her, incredulous. “I thought you would have forgotten your gods, little bird. You’re too far away for them to hear you.”

  “I’m not, but in case that were true, that’s why I brought them along with me.”

  Sandor rolled his eyes at her before turning around on his bedroll. “Fine, but don’t take too long praying. We have to save our strength up for tomorrow.”

  Sansa assured him that she wouldn’t and placed the little gods side by side on top of a big rock. She knelt in front of them and thanked them for allowing her and Sandor to reach Great Norvos without troubles.

  “Thank you for answering the prayers I asked of you back at the little sept at the village where we boarded _The Summer Bird_. Thank you, because things are all right once more between me and Sandor.” she whispered to the gods. “I pray still that my mother is strong and well wherever she is, and that Robb is winning his war. Please gods, let me see them again one day, and please make the time we are going to spend in Norvos just as wonderful as the one Sandor and I knew in Pentos.”

  Sansa fell asleep that night gazing upon Norvos and the distant lights from the city, shinning bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... did you like this chapter? If so please let me know :) & if you didn't, also tell me about it. All your reviews are what keeps my inspiration alive :D


	12. The Three Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both of await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimers:  
> \- I don't gain anything by doing this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)  
> *My betas: swiftsnowmane, onborrowedwings & gingerbeer48, thanks for always delivering great feedback and for helping me out with this! :D  
> *The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.
> 
> *There isn’t much information about Norvos, so besides using what the wiki said, I made up everything else about this city. Hope you all don’t mind it, and like it :)

  Even from a reasonable distance, Sansa knew Norvos would be unlike any other city she’d ever experienced. They were deep inside the Hills of Norvos, yet the biggest mountain around was the one where the people of Great Norvos had decided to built their ancient city.

  _It’s really more like two cities_ , Sansa thought as she gazed at it. _There’s the High City surrounding the mountain going all the way to the top, while beside the great river Noyne at the base of the mountain there’s the Low City_. She remembered Maester Luwin telling her that long ago.

  Sansa had been in White Harbor, King’s Landing and Pentos, yet this city made her feel as nervous and excited as she’d ever felt when first laying eyes upon the former three. _We’re finally here! We made it to Norvos after all!_ Those thoughts filled her with such happiness she would have danced and broken into a song upon the Valyrian road had it not been a gateway for caravans and travelers both entering and leaving the city’s main gates. _We must try to remain as unnoticed as possible,_ she recalled, before remembering that she was feeling far too tired and sore for dancing anyways.

  Dusk was an hour away when they reached the main gates of the city. Earlier that day they had seen more people and come upon at least three villages and a manse and a terraced farm, all surrounded by pine forests. It was as though they were finally seeing all the villages that had seemingly vanished during the past weary weeks of solitude. Now, as they approached the gates, the imposing sight of the city protected among hills and mountains that had stood since before the Andals crossed the Narrow Sea to Westeros, took Sansa’s breath away.  

  She looked towards Sandor to find him silently taking in the sight of the High City, craning his neck to get a better look. He dismounted from Stranger while she rode Nan. There were pine trees all about them and a slight fog misted the air.

  “Ready?” Sandor asked beside her, his hood swallowing his face. So long as he kept his face down, you could not see his face, only the whites of his eyes, peering out.

  “Keep your head down and your mouth closed, little bird.”

  She nodded and together they moved towards this strange, far away land- a land where Sansa Stark would never have even dreamed possible to find herself a year ago. The guards at the gate stopped them, eyeing Sandor with no fear.

  “What’s your business in this city?” One of them asked Sandor as his companion walked over towards Sansa, eyeing her saddlebag. Sansa noticed that instead of swords the guards had menacing looking longaxes as their weapon.

  Sandor put on a respectful tone and replied, “Looking for whatever employment I can find here.”

  “You’re not from the Free Cities?” the second guard remarked.

  “No, we come from Westeros.”

  “That’s a long way from Great Norvos.”

  Sandor shrugged. “We know. We just spent many weeks on the road, and the hope of finding a better life gave us the strength for this long journey.”

  The guards then gave Sansa a cursory glance, and the taller of the two asked her if she was looking for employment as well.

  Sansa mumbled that she wasn’t, keeping her eyes down and her face hidden. “I’ve only come to keep my husband company.”

  Sandor and the guards all looked at her at that, yet Sansa didn’t flinch. She was playing her part. Sandor thankfully didn’t do anything either, so after waiting patiently on the guards’ lesisure for a moment, they were finally allowed into the city, after they paid the usual tax charged for their entrance.

  Sansa was so excited that they’d made it through the gates that she couldn’t keep the wide grin that came to her face hidden. As Sandor walked in front of her, each of his hands leading the reins of the horses, he turned to look at her and snorted, lowering his hood.  

  She made a face. _Well, what else would you have me tell them? That I was a princess in exile and you my sworn shield?_ She thought in her own defense. Yet she didn’t say anything, she just kept on beaming as Sandor started looking ahead of him again. Sansa looked around her, giddy with excitement.

  They were in the Low City, and Sansa could see the Noyne nearby with the poorest little shacks besides its banks. As the city moved farther from the river and closer to the foot of the mountain where the High City could be seen above them, the houses and buildings increased in numbers, so close to one other that they made Sansa feel a bit cramped. All the streets she saw so far were made of cobblestone, and as she and Sandor walked nearer towards the mountain, streets with steps appeared.

  Sansa noticed two things right away: first, that everyone in this part of the city, whether they were wealthier than others or not, were considered the common folk of Norvos, and secondly, that the people here weren’t as laid-back as the Pentoshi. Here everyone was briskly walking this way and that, looking ahead of them but not really _seeing_ anything, whereas in Pentos time really did seem to stop, so leisurely had the Pentoshi gone about their daily lives. But so far as Sansa could see the Norvoshi barely paid either Sandor or her attention. Of course there were exceptions; little boys playing with a ball in a corner of a street where Sansa gladly noticed a garden nearby adding to the view, stopped their play when they saw Sandor towering over them, casting a long shadow as he passed them by. And then a little girl teasing a kitten stopped to look up at her with wide eyes. Yet what Sansa noticed most were the men: from young to old, their eyes glancing quickly at her face and chest, and there were even two who grinned and winked at her. Sansa felt a bit flustered and could feel herself growing red, and she glanced at Sandor’s back to make sure he hadn’t noticed anything.

  They didn’t have much luck with the first two inns they found, as the first one was located beside a brothel and the second one had no rooms available, besides being a bit scary looking. Sandor even began asking strangers if they knew where there was an inn, but it was only after he stopped a Norvoshi with a bursting blue mustachio that they had any luck, for the man spoke the Common Tongue.

  “You’re from Westeros?” he asked Sandor, looking at his face without revulsion. In fact, Sansa saw a flicker of kindness in his eyes.

  “Why would you think so?”

  “Well, it’s clear you’re not from around here. You pronounce your _r’s_ too short and your _n’s_ too long, but your accent gives you away easily enough. My father was from Saltpans, and even though he lived half his life here in Norvos after he married my dear mother, he never quite lost his accent. Thus, I can tell you hail from the Sunset Kingdoms, though the exact place I do not know.”

  Sandor grunted, dismissing that. “Do you happen to know where there’s a respectable inn in this bloody city?”

  The man laughed before he looked over at Sansa with a smile and gave her a ridiculously low bow. Sansa giggled. He was not a handsome man, yet he _could_ be called comely with his blue eyes and blond hair, if not for that ridiculous blue mustachio ruining the effect. _Though from what I’ve seen so far, he is one of the less strange looking Norvoshi so far…_

  “I bet you’ve been to _Nunoc’s Den_ then and didn’t find it to your liking?” the man continued.

  Sandor shrugged. “Was that the one by the whorehouse or the one with blood stains on the wall of the common room?”

  “The one with the blood stains… But you’re in luck. I live at _The Three Bells_ boarding house and inn.  There’s an empty house at present, and I’m ready to bet the contents of my purse that you’ll not refuse it once you lay your eyes upon it.”

  Sandor looked over at Sansa, and she nodded. _We can at least look at it._ She liked this man and hoped he was indeed as honest and kind as he appeared so far.

  “And how do we find it?” Sandor asked.

  “Come, I’ll take you. I live there, so it isn’t much trouble.”

  Sandor nodded and began walking beside the man down the street. Since Sansa was riding Nan behind them, she had to raise her voice as she called out to the man, “Pray excuse me, but what is your name?”

  The Norvoshi turned his head to look at her and said, “I’m Vintos Lorann, and it’s an honour to meet you…?”

  “Oh, I’m Alysanne Mallister,” she lied quickly. “And the honor is ours.”

  The man tipped his head at her again before he looked over at Sandor expectantly. Sandor tried to ignore Vintos’ stare for a moment, but finally said that he was Edric Goodbrook. Before Vintos could remark upon that Sandor went on, “So how does this boarding thing work?”

  “Well, there are five small houses at the back of the inn, and we all eat at the common room. The children of the innkeep clean the house and make the beds, bring water for bathing… It’s very comfortable really. I was married four months ago and my wife and I both agree that it’s the best way to get used to married life.”

  Sansa could feel herself blushing yet again. _Does he think we’re married too or just… together?_ She didn’t know what to say, so she kept quiet, as did Sandor. Vintos was about to say something when a bell, far away and with a high-pitched sound, began to ring from the High City, though the noise it was making was so loud everyone in the Low City could clearly hear it as well.

  “What the bloody hells is that for?” Sandor asked loudly, before Sansa covered her ears with her hands. In King’s Landing the bells of Baelor’s Sept would ring whenever a king or a high septon died. Sansa remembered then the day her father had fallen from grace; the day King Robert had died and she had been locked up in a tower with a crying Jeyne Poole. _Will they ring the bells as well when Joffrey dies_?

  When the bell finally ceased ringing, she asked Vintos if someone important had died today.

  “Died?” Vintos repeated, frowning. “No, no. That was only _Nyel_ announcing dusk.”

  “What?” asked Sandor and Sansa at the exact moment.

  Vintos laughed. “Oh sweet gods, how long are you planning on staying in Great Norvos?”

  “We’re not sure yet…” Sansa informed him, hesitantly. “Why?”

  “Because my friends, you two have much to learn. _Nyel_ is one of the three bells of Norvos- hence the name of the inn I’m taking you to. Here we have three bells to announce the passing hours of each day. At dawn _Noom_ is heard, its deep sound telling the city of the coming of a new day. Then at midday and midnight the strong sound of _Narrah_ rings, and the one you just heard is _Nyel_ , which has just informed us that dusk is here.”

  Sandor snorted at that as they took a turn to the left. “You mean to tell me that we will have to hear theses bells rattling on four times a day to let us know the time?”

  Vintos nodded. “You’ll get used to them sooner than you think, don’t worry.”

  Sansa wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or not. _I may not mind the noise after a time, but poor Sandor will_ … Sandor spoke with Vintos something, but their voices were too low to hear, so Sansa’s thoughts wondered as she looked at the houses and people around her. So far Norvos was so different from Pentos that Sansa wasn’t sure what to make of it. Yet she reminded herself that the first night she and Sandor had spent in Pentos, she had been too nervous to enjoy it. _In a few days time I’m going to like it here just as much as I did Pentos. Besides, Vintos seems like a decent man. Maybe he will help us learn our way around the city sooner than we would have were we on our own_.

  After winding left and right through yet more streets, Sansa could now see the High City with more detail, since they were indeed drawing closer to the foot of the mountain. From where she was Sansa could see manses and temples with golden domes up on the higher levels of the city, along with square brick towers and beautiful terraced houses. That’s where the highborn Norvoshi could be found.

  “How does one get to the High City?” she asked Vintos.

  Sandor looked up at the wealthiest part of Norvos as Vintos waved a hand to their left. “Over at Rozzo’s Square by the main market you’ll find the Sinner’s Steps which lead up to the High City. That’s the only way one can get there, I believe.”

  “You’ve never been there?” she asked.

  Vintos shook his head at that. “Me? Oh no, only the richest and most privileged get to cross the gates to the High City. Down here, we are all free to go where we please, but you need an invitation to step through the golden gates.”

  “What’s that big building right at the top?” Sandor asked, pointing.

  “That’s the temple of the Bearded Priests. They rule the city along with the High Magister.”

  Sansa knew what magisters, high or low, were and what they did, but she had never heard of these Bearded Priests.

  “Those who guard the gates into the city are trained by the Bearded Priests, aren’t they?” Sandor asked Vintos.

  Sansa arched an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

  “Long story,” Sandor said, dismissively. “But if I remember correctly these guards are just as dangerous as Unsullied, right?”

  “Oh yes,” Vintos agreed. “Unsullied and men trained by the Bearded Priests are married to their axes are the best fighters in the world. And you can find them both here.”

  “We saw Unsullied in Pentos,” Sansa remarked.

  “But they weren’t the real thing li- Alysanne. Those were just fat eunuchs. There are real Unsullied up in the High City, aren’t there?”

  Vintos nodded and Sansa saw his eyes fall upon the sword at Sandor’s side. Just then, he stopped in front of a large yellow house, with a painted sign of three bells hanging above the entrance to the building.

  “Here it is! _The Three Bells_ _Inn_. It’s owned by Medra, a good woman- I’ve known her since I was just a lad so she’s practically family. But beware crossing her path when she is in a temper. I still have headaches from the blows to the head she gave me with her cooking spoon. When I was a boy, you see, stealing wintercakes right out of the oven. Well, I still do so maybe that’s why I can remember the pain so well.”

  The mention of wintercakes made Sansa lift up her head. “Does she make lemon cakes as well?”

  Vintos told her that he didn’t think so. “I can’t say she would say no if you told her how they were done though.”

  Sandor took down his hood as he led Stranger and Nan to the stable besides the house. A boy who Sansa guessed was the same age as Robb when she’d last seen him stepped forward. Sandor told him in his best Valyrian not to touch Stranger. He whispered something to the big black stallion and led him into an empty stall while Vintos talked with her.

  “I’m sure you’ll like it here. And if you decide to stay maybe in a couple of days you and Edric would like to join us at my house for dinner so you can meet my wife?”

  Sansa smiled. “Oh yes, we would love to. What’s your wife’s name?”

  Vintos beamed as Sansa’s interest, “Frema, the sweetest word for the sweetest woman in the world. It means “joy” in Norvoshi. We were married four months ago, but I’ve told you that already, haven’t I? I think you two would get along splendidly.”

  Sansa told him that she was looking forward to meeting Frema, just as Sandor came out of the stall. He dropped Stranger’s saddle on the ground next to Nan and walked over to Sansa to help her from the chestnut mare. Without a word he placed his warm, strong hands on her waist and as he pulled her from her horse as lightly as if she were a feather, down Nan, Sansa’s hands moved to his arms for support, noticing how steady they were. When he had settled her gently on the floor it took them a moment to realize that Sandor’s hands were still holding her waist, and she was still clutching at his arms. Their eyes met, and for the briefest of moments he leaned down ever so slightly towards her, sending butterflies fluttering inside Sansa’s tummy. But then Sandor blinked and drew back, letting her go. He had helped her from her horse before, yet this had _felt_ and _been_ different! She was sure of it…

  Vintos must have seen whatever passed between her eyes and Sandor’s, because he coughed discretely before saying, “Let’s see if Medra has given away the empty house.”

  Sansa handed Nan’s reins over to the stable lad who reminded her of Robb before following Vintos into the house, Sandor beside her, a saddle under each of his arms.

  “You’ll get a reward if you wash and feed and water the mare,” Sandor called over to the boy. “But don’t touch the black horse. I’ll come to take care of him myself later.”

  The first thing Sansa saw was a large fleshy woman in an apron walking towards her and Sandor, to meet Vintos.

  “There you are, Vintos! Haven’t seen you all day long. How was work?”

  “The same as usual, Medra. I expect Frema is waiting for me right now with my dinner. But before I go to her I wanted to introduce you to my new friends who happen to be looking for a place to stay.”

  The innkeep Medra looked over at Sansa and then at Sandor. “You assure me they won’t be trouble?”

 Vintos shook his head. “Of course they won’t! You do have the empty house still available, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Medra continued. “For them as have coin. Would you like to take a look at it?”

  “Yes,” grunted Sandor while Sansa smiled to soften Sandor’s blunt reply.

  Medra scratched the back of her head as she asked them how long they would be staying.

  Sansa looked around the common room. It was round and yellow, just as the rest of the house, and at present some locals and guests were sitting at different tables, as a fireplace warmed the room, looking over at the as the newcomers with ill-concealed interest.

  “We don’t know, but we’ll pay you for a week right now,” Sandor informed her.  

  “And what would your names be?”

  “I’m Alysanne and this is Edric. We’re from Westeros.”

  “All right then, follow me.” She ordered a woman, who looked like a younger version of Medra and the stable boy, to take care of the inn as she stepped outside.

  Sansa followed her, with Sandor and Vintos at her heels as the innkeep turned the corner of the inn and walked into what Sansa would have expected to be a garden or an empty courtyard. Instead it was a cobblestoned courtyard surrounded by not only the back of the inn, but by five little white one story houses. Vinto told them then that he had to go, so Sansa thanked him kindly for showing them this place. _So far, there isn’t any reason why we shouldn’t take it,_ she thought as Vintos gave Sansa another low bow and a kiss on her hand before entering the first house to the right.

  Night had fallen some time ago, yet Sansa was surprised to see that there was light coming from the house Medra was walking towards. Sansa wished she could hold Sandor’s hand then, but his arms were full with the saddles, so instead she turned to look at him and smiled. He smiled back a little as Medra unlocked the door to the house.

  The moment Sansa stepped inside she knew this was the place she wanted. While their rooms back in Pentos had felt like a home, that was because with days and time they had decorated it with their belongings into something they felt comfortable with, but this little house _already_ felt like home to her. _This is bigger than where we lived in Pentos too_.

  “Were you expecting someone?” Sandor asked Medra, as the house was supposed to be empty at present, yet it was lighted up everywhere with tallow candles, and even the little brazier had hot coals heating it. Only the fireplace remained unlit.

  “Oh no, it’s just that I like keeping things clean and ready in case something like today happens. You may very well decide to take the house just because it’s well kept, after all. And my brother is a candlemaker, so we always have candles to spare.”

  There were three rooms, connected by a corridor, Sansa observed. In the first room a little table with a couple of chairs and the fireplace could be found; in the second room there was a copper tub, two small couches and the water basin, and a chamber pot. The last room at the back was the bedroom, with a brazier, a full length mirror with a crack at the top, a small old wardrobe and a little table beside the big bed. Sandor dropped the saddles in the second room after their little tour and followed the innkeep to the first room.

  “You like what you see then?” Medra remarked, curious.

  Sansa nodded and the innkeep replied, “Good. Well then, there’s suckling pig tonight for dinner so come to the common room when you’re ready- which better be quickly- if you want to have a bite.”

  “Will you please send hot water for the bath?” Sansa said.

  “Aye, I’ll tell my sons to help with that. Here,” she said, turning to Sandor. “Take the key to the house.”

  “Is there a water pump and a well where I can wash up?” Sandor inquired.

  “Aye, it’s behind the stables though.”

  “Makes no diffrence.”  

  When Medra was gone, Sandor locked the front door. When he turned around and looked at her, Sansa she couldn’t hide her smile any longer.

  “I take it you like it then?” he grinned at the sight of her face.

  She nodded vigorously. “Yes, oh Sandor, gods be good, I cannot believe that we’ve been so lucky in our travels so far. After the second inn I was beginning to despair we wouldn’t find a decent place to sleep in- let alone live- when the gods saw fit to send us Vintos!”

  Sandor walked to the second room and sat on one of the couches, sighing. “Yes well, it was good that we met him so he could show us this place, but I have a feeling he is going to become an annoying presence soon, always coming around to see what we’re doing and such.”

  Sansa couldn’t help but laugh at Sandor. “He has already invited us to meet his wife, you know.”

  She meant to tease him and it worked. He rolled his eyes incredulously making Sansa laugh harder.

  “Oh come on, you don’t dislike him so much, else you would have bitten his head off with one of those nasty remarks you are so good at.”

  “If I haven’t it’s because I needed him to bring us here. But I’ll start on the morrow.”

  “Oh no you won’t,” Sansa warned him. “He is the first friend we have since Captain Iytus Mollaris and we can’t repay him like that.”

  Sandor snorted but seemed to relent, so she offered him her hand and said happily, “Come.”

  Sandor arched an eyebrow at her. “Where? This old couch is the first time I’ve been able to sit on anything that isn’t a rock or Stranger’s saddle in weeks, little bird.”

  Sansa grabbed his hand. “We haven’t tried the bed.”

  Sandor’s eyes quickly met hers at that, but she behaved as if nothing was amiss, tugging at his arm to make him stand up. He did after a moment of wary tense silence, following her into the bedroom, their hands entwined. 

  Sansa threw herself upon the old feather mattress and stretched across it, looking up at the white ceiling, content. Sandor sat first on the edge of the bed before he finally laid down beside her, looking up as well.

  “There are no windows in this room,” he remarked.

  “I guess we won’t need the sun’s light to wake us up when we have a bell to do that.”

  “Seven hells,” he swore. “I’d forgotten about the bloody bells! I think I’m going to go crazy here.”

  Sansa laughed, turning her head sideways so she could look at Sandor, the unburned side of his face to her. She took this time to quickly imagine what he would have looked like had he not grown up with the Mountain as his brother. _He looks like a northman_ , she thought before he turned his head to look at her in return.

  “Thank you for bringing me here, Sandor. I cannot imagine anyone else crossing half the world with me just so that I could keep my head on my shoulders and because I asked them too.”

  Sandor’s grey eyes bore into her blue ones. “And I cannot imagine anyone else I would have done this for, little bird.”

  Sansa smiled shyly, searching for his hand out once again with hers. “Though this is a nice place, I think the only thing I need in order to be happy is having you by my side to share all this with,” she admitted to him, in a whisper. _We’re so close_.

  “Sansa…” he said hoarsely before a knock at the door interrupted them. Sandor sat up quickly and was at the empty doorframe within the blink of an eye.

  “Who is it?”                                     

  “We bring the water for the bath,” a boy’s voice replied.

  Sandor looked at her briefly before walking over to the living room to open the door. Sansa was still in bed, flustered and confused, when she resignedly sat up as well. _Don’t let this ruin the moment. This is your first night here, enjoy it_. She stood up and leaned against the doorframe, watching two boys her age bringing in pails of hot water to fill the copper tub, placing a bar of soap on the arm of one of the couches as well.

  Sansa had to giggle when both of them stopped short and gaped at her with open mouths. They were wearing some funny looking floppy straw hats, but they took them off quickly enough in respect, though they seemed unable to actually _say_ anything.

  Sandor didn’t look pleased at this turn of events. “What the hell are you two standing there for, letting the water grow cold?”

  His rasping voice brought the brothers back to the present, for they hastily began to fill the tub, as they stole furtive glances at her. Sansa laughed once again, teasingly. When the boys left Sandor told her that while she took a bath he was going to go tend to Stranger and take a quick bath himself.

  “I’ll lock the door but this courtyard isn’t very big so if anything happens scream and use your dagger.”

  “You do the same if anything happens.”

  When he left her, muttering about incompetent twats, Sansa undressed and stepped into the hot water before sitting down in the tub, sighing in relaxation. A hot bath after a weary journey always made her feel so good _. It reminds me of the hot springs in the godswood, and of father cleaning Ice by the heart tree, and of Bran climbing up trees_. She wished she could go to sleep right there, but of course she couldn’t. Sandor could come in anytime, and she didn’t want to think of what he would say to her then.

  So when she was clean and as pink as she was as likely to get she donned her nightgown and began to brush her hair. When that was done Sandor still hadn’t arrived, so she began started unpacking their things from their saddlebags. They didn’t have many possessions though, so it took her very little time to put their clothes inside the wardrobe and to place her little wooden figures of the gods upon the table beside the bed. _What do I do now?_ She wondered as her belly began to make noises, realizing how hungry she was.

  She sat on their bed and took out the sheepskin maps they had acquired back in Pentos at _The_ _Hall of A Thousand Scrolls_ to admire how far she’d come since that  time. After a while, she realized that she was starting to think of Sandor. _I ought to surprise him one of these days with a nice hot warm bath just for himself. He’s done so much without that little comfort for so long now_.

  Sandor finally came back wearing breeches and a clean shirt, along with his swordbelt.

  “Are you hungry?” he said, stepping into the bedroom, noticing she was wearing her nightgown.

  “I’m starving,” she said, looking up. “But I feel like having supper here, not in the common room.”

  “All right, I’ll bring the food. Wait a moment.”

  When he was gone, Sansa moved into the dining room and looked out one of the two windows over to the house where Vintos lived. She could see shapes moving inside and smiled at that. _It’s good for us to make friends._ Her eyes gazed around the courtyard wondering what their other neighbors were like. She turned around and sat on one of the chairs by the table, waiting. _Norvos is a lot chillier than Pentos_ , she thought as she gazed at the empty fireplace, idly trying to make up her mind if she wished for a fire or not. But for her hair, she was already dry and warm due to the brazier back in the bedroom, so she decided that it was all right for them not to have a fire tonight.

  Sandor came back carrying the suckling hog, along with a skin of wine full to the brim (which made him grin like a fool), and a loaf of bread.

  “I see you finally got your hands on some wine,” she remarked.

  Sandor smiled even more. “This will be my second skin.”

  As they devoured the pig, Sansa tried to eat it as delicately as possible but failed terribly, which made Sandor laugh. The pig’s crisp skin crackled as Sandor cut it, hot juice running from the meat, steaming. Sansa’s mouth watered at the smell of it.

  “It’s not my fault that this is so good or that I was so hungry,” she said in defense, throwing the piece of bread she had been about to gobble down at his nose.

  That only made him roar with laughter, so they went on with their food and wine in between laughs and giggles. When they had finally calmed down Sansa managed to remember to ask Sandor something she’d been thinking about since they met Vintos.

  “Sandor, how do you know what the Bearded Priests are and that those guards over at the gate were trained by them?”

  “Well, I’ve known about the Bearded Priests for years, little bird. They’re basically members of a religious sect who keep very much to themselves, though they call themselves godly men they are also great masters of military learning. They take unwanted young boys to be raised up as elite guardsmen. These guards swear oaths of duty and consider themselves wedded to their axes. You saw the ones axes the guards at the gate were carrying, right? Well, that’s their main weapon and they are so good that lords and kings from all over the world buy them to serve them for life.”

  Sansa found it all very interesting. _Maybe I can tell Robb about them one day and he can get some for Winterfell?_

  “Are there any of these guards serving in the Seven Kingdoms?” she asked Sandor.

  “I’m sure there are, but I only know about one. _The_ one. Areo Hotah who serves the Prince of Dorne.”

  Sansa covered her mouth with her hand, gasping, remembering. _How could we have forgotten?_ “Sandor, isn’t the wife of Doran Martell from Norvos?”

  Sandor instantly knew what she meant. “She is, but they’ve been separated for a long time so far as I know.”

  “I know, I remember Cersei telling me about her once. She is called Mellario and married the Prince, but though their match was one made out of love, they soon began to fight and had so many troubles that she packed her bags and returned to her homeland. What if someone from Dorne is here, visiting her, and they recognize you? After all, you are the brother of the man who killed her good-sister.”

  “It’s all right, little bird.” Sandor paused, choosing his words with care. “Mellario won’t know me and it was a rare thing to see anyone from the court of Dorne at King’s Landing when Robert was alive. He preferred to overlook the murders of Rhaegar’s wife and children and never gave Dorne their vengeance. The most anyone might do is become suspicious at our connection to Westeros, but nothing more. Anyway, if any were here, I would think most of those poxy Dornish court fools would be over at the High City, so there isn’t any chance of meeting them down here, is there?”

  “I suppose…” Sansa said, only half convinced.

  “Don’t worry Sansa, we are safe here. I wouldn’t have brought you to a place where I was likely to be recognized and killed just for being a Clegane and related to Gregor.”

  He smiled and even rested his hand over hers.

  “I really hope you’re right, Sandor, because I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

  “I know, but don’t worry, I am as good a fighter as any Unsullied or guard trained by the Bearded Peas,” Sandor jested, and made a sound that might have been a laugh then and stood up. “Come, little bird. It’s time we hit the hay. I don’t know about you but I feel bone-tired.”

  He walked over to the front door and both locked and barred it before closing the little curtains by the windows. Sansa _was_ tired too, so she stood up and walked over to the bedroom, Sandor behind her. She took out her little wooden figures of the Maiden and the Warrior and said a prayer for them to keep both Sandor and herself safe as Sandor began to take off his boots. _Don’t let us be recognized, please. Don’t take Sandor away from me_.

  When she was done she looked up to see Sandor looking at her with something warm and soft in his eyes. She noticed that he was holding her brush in his hand. Her hair was almost dry by now, her auburn hair already shaped into her natural curls, a thing that didn’t happen when she hadn’t brushed away the tangles, so both knew that she had already used the brush for the night. Yet neither of them said anything as she sat on the bed, her back to him, waiting. Sure enough, in moments she felt him sitting on the bed and moving behind her. Sansa was happy yet she couldn’t keep a couple of tears from silently falling down her cheeks as Sandor began to gently brush her hair with a delicacy surprising in such a big man. They didn’t speak as he did this, each lost in their own thoughts.

  When he was done Sansa lowered her head and said in a small voice, “Thank you.” She was a good girl, and always remembered her courtesies, even when she felt her heart breaking.

  Sandor heard her voice break and put his hands on her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

  Sansa shook her head, telling him that nothing was wrong. Yet Sandor knew better. He turned her around and saw the tears glittering in her eyes, while she bit her trembling lip.

  Sandor’s hands cupped her face then, his thumbs brushing the tears away before he kissed her nose.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, as she cried a bit more. “It’s just that I feel we’ve come to this far away land only to end up realizing it isn’t so safe after all.”

  “Sansa, look at me,” Sandor told her, still cupping her face. She did as he said and looked at him, before he continued. “Have I ever lied to you, little bird?”

  She shook her head at that.

  “Well then, believe me if I’m telling you that we didn’t make a mistake in coming here. I’ve kept you safe so far, haven’t I? Well, just because we are here doesn’t mean things will change-”

  “No, it isn’t that,” she interrupted, tears streaming still down her face. “I am not worried about me. I am thinking about _you_. I don’t want you to suffer harm, Sandor.”

  It was interesting to see then the way Sandor’s face softened. She could see his soul and his heart then through his eyes, and she could feel herself drowning in them, even through her tears.

  “Nothing will happen to me, little bird. Please stop this and believe me…”

  Sansa sobbed, trying to believe him, but at the sound that escaped her Sandor hugged her. She embraced him back with all her strength and buried her face in his neck, while he did the same in her hair. Whenever she was with him he always made her feel so small; small but safe, yet now it was the other way around. She hugged him as if that could save him from the dangers outside their room.

  They never knew how long they knelt there upon their bed, but finally her tears went away, even if her fears didn’t. When they broke apart Sandor growled low in his throat, “I can’t believe you were so happy when we first entered the house only to have you break down for a trifle, silly little bird.”

  She gasped a laugh then, and gave him a smile. Sandor returned it sincerely as he said, “And now I really think we should get some sleep.”

  “Yes,” she said in agreement. She stood up then, and began to pull back the blankets to make their bed ready, fussing with the feather pillows.

  Sandor stood up as well and placed his sword belt by the bedpost, as he walked over to the tallow candle on the sill to blow it out. Darkness enveloped the room and but for the noises they were making, all was quiet.

  Sansa got into bed and soon heard Sandor doing the same, until she felt him beside her. She was about to tell him to please hold her, but he already knew beforehand what she needed. Her back was once again to him, but he put his arm around her, bringing her closer to him, rasping softly near her ear, “Good night, Sansa Stark.”

  “Good night, Sandor Clegane,” she replied, as she took hold of his hand and brought it near her heart.

  A couple of hours later they both woke up when _Narra_ , the bell that rang at midnight began to sound.

  “What the fuck?” Sandor said, waking up. Sansa stirred beside him as he cursed, “Oh shit, it’s that thrice-damned bell again!”

  Sansa began to laugh at Sandor, though what really gladdened her heart was that she was still in his arms…  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for reading! I send you all a big virtual hug and a plate of lemon cakes courtesy of Sansa ;)


	13. Great Norvos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don't gain anything by doing this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)  
> *My betas: swiftsnowmane, onborrowedwings & gingerbeer48, you are simply THE best!!! Thank you for your undying support X)  
> *The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.

  Sandor had been dreaming pleasantly when he was abruptly brought back to the present, as one of those three blasted bells- the one that announced dawn- the Norvoshi tolerated every fucking day of their lives, rang once again. Sandor, who’d trained himself over the long years of working for the Lannisters to sleep lightly, was barely able to restrain himself from rasping out a loud curse that would have surely woken Sansa as he sat up in bed, his heart beating fast.

  _How can the Norvoshi actually live like this?_ He wondered in frustration. _And that idiot Vintos was actually suggesting I would get used to that endless ringing!_ He then silently wished that the buggering idiot who’d thought those bells were a good idea was burning in some hell. 

When he was sure it was safe enough to take his hands away from his ears, he let out a long, deep sigh. After running his hand over his face and rubbing his eyes, Sandor glanced down at Sansa beside him, amazed that she was still sleeping, resting on her belly, her pretty face hidden underneath her loose, long hair that fanned everywhere, both her arms tucked in securely beneath her pillow. _Poor little bird, she must have been more tired than I realized after all this traveling, and is just plain exhausted_.

  Sandor watched her for a moment until the soft sound of her breathing drove his mind back to last night when she’d broken down because of _him_. _Seven hells_ , Sandor thought, though in amazement. Not since Arwyn had anyone cried _for_ him, and certainly not Sansa. Sure, he’d seen her cry many times before, but she’d never cried for him so far as he knew.

  Sandor Clegane would never have imagined up till some months ago that he would ever have the beautiful little bird caring for him so much. Yet now here he was, in the Free City of Norvos, at the boarding house of the _Three Bells_ , with Sansa beside him, so used to his presence that she could share a bed with him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It made him feel strange, yet far from uncomfortable, that Sansa felt so strongly about the idea of harm coming to him when no one had ever given a shit before. It had moved him beyond words to see the tears she’d because of her fears for him and the only way he’d been able to show her that those fears were unfounded had been to treat her with all the care and gentleness he could manage, as he brushed those burning tears away and hugged her, as he brought her closer to him for warmth and comfort to fall asleep together.

  _If the day ever comes when I have to fight a bloody Unsullied or a guard trained by the Bearded Priests,_ he swore to himself, _I’ll survive to be able to protect Sansa until the gods claim my life_. _I’ll be damned if I let a eunuch or a man who prefers a cold axe over a woman’s warmth get the better of me._

  Cursing himself for a fool for thinking too much when he could be sleeping and gaining strength for this new day in their lives, he turned around in bed so he could throw a loose arm over Sansa’s back. Sandor began to feel his pillow calling to him once more…

  When he woke up again he could tell by the light and the sounds from outside that it was later than the hour in which he and Sansa were used to waking, yet the little bird slumbered on, her shoulder bare where her nightgown had slipped down, in the exact same position as before, only now her face was to him instead of to the wall. Sandor had huddled even closer to her he noticed.

  Sitting up in bed, he saw her feet were uncovered, so he reached out to tickle her soles lightly a couple of times. Grinning at the sight of Sansa’s nose twitching, he stood up, stretching his arms behind his head silently, as he walked barefooted out of the bedroom, to the living room to have a piss and wash his hands and his face in the water basin, before heading to the dining room at the front of the house to stand before one of the little windows to stare at the rising world outside.

 What he supposed were some of their neighbors were already dressed, and ready for the day, heading to the common room to break their fast. A fat, bald man was rubbing his runny little black eyes as he yawned widely and crossed the cobblestone courtyard. Sandor caught sight of a willowy, common looking girl carrying a bucket into the house, Vintos stepped into last night, as well as a girl who had the look of the innkeeper about her trying to pull a goat towards the stables. _Gods, how many children does the fat inkeeper have?_ Sandor wondered, astonished.

  This city was deep inside the Hills of Norvos, and thus it was much colder than down by the seaside where Pentos had been. Sandor could see his breath misting a little against the windowpane, but the climate was bearable. He began to wonder how it would be to live here for months and how things would change once they were back in Westeros. He must have stood there pondering for some moments before he heard the little bird calling from the bedroom, “Sandor?”

  “Wait, I’m coming,” he called, casting one last glance at the view outside once more, making sure nothing was amiss. _It’s better to be alert_ …

  When he stepped into the bedroom he saw that Sansa was now half-asleep and half-awake, peering up at him, as she lay on her belly, her elbows propping her up, hugging her pillow close.

  “Good morning,” Sandor rasped, leaning against the doorframe, drinking in the perfect sight that was Sansa, even when she was disheveled and sleepy. _I must have done something right in my life to be rewarded with the sight of the little bird every morning…_

  “Good morning,” she said frowning, peering closer at him. “What time is it?”

  He shrugged. “I reckon it’s still a couple of hours till midday.”

  “Oh,” she yawned, totally unconcerned. Then, meeting his eyes, she blushed and said, “It’s a chilly morning…”

  Sandor was glad that Sansa had asked him to do what he was already thinking he would like to do, for her comment on the weather was an invitation even a blind fool could read. So he said nothing as he walked around the bed, looking at her, feeling nervous as he got under the covers, Sansa quickly huddling closer to him. It felt so good that he put an arm around her shoulder, but he didn’t try to sleep. Instead he sat up a bit in the bed, as he stared at the wall in front of him, unconsciously moving his hand up and down the curve of Sansa’s tiny waist after she’d rested her head on his shoulder.

  After a long moment he suddenly felt Sansa’s hand upon his arm, squeezing his muscles timidly.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing, little bird?” he asked her, in a low growl.

  “Oh!” Sansa chirped, her head coming up to meet him, blushing as brightly as the sun. “I thought you had fallen back asleep!”

  “How can I go back to sleep if you’re touching my arm like that?”

  “Oh!” Sansa exclaimed again, burying her head in the crook of his shoulder, hiding from the wolfish grin that appeared on his face.

  Sandor couldn’t help but burst into a laugh as he realized what Sansa had been doing. After all, his face may be horrible but his body was that of a well-honed warrior, every inch of it muscled. There had been women in his past who had commented on it, though they hadn’t touched him like Sansa just had. _It’s just so surreal to think that the proper little bird would feel curious about this_ , he thought, as Sansa still refused to lift her head up.

  “Stop laughing!” she piped, her voice muffled.

  Sandor tried to regain himself with some difficulty. When only the occasional chuckle still escaped him he put his hand on Sansa’s back and nudged her gently.

  “Little bird, stop hiding under my armpit.”

  Sansa shook her head but when he kept insisting she relented. Sansa did look up but would not meet his eyes, so he grabbed her chin in a firm grip and made her look at him. When her beautiful blue eyes met his, his heart went out to her.

  “I know why you were doing it, little bird,” he told her. “And it’s not anything to embarrass yourself over. I- I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but if you want to feel my muscles, you can.”

  Sandor gulped before he saw Sansa’s mouth part a little in pleasant surprise and her eyes widened.

  “Sandor, I’m sorry I did it, and if it makes you feel uncomfortable you don’t have to-”

  Sandor shook his head, interrupting her. “I don’t mind it, Sansa. Go on.”

  Sansa took a moment to consider it, but it was plain on her face that she _was_ curious about this, so before meeting his eyes again for approval, she looked over at his arm, her hand creeping slowly towards it.

  The little bird began to caress his muscled forearm slightly, curiously, and when she saw that he wasn’t objecting, his silence encouraged her to press her grip a bit firmer upon him. Sandor mused in the meantime how strange yet nice it felt to have someone care about exploring him like this for the first time in his life.

  Sandor knew that if he asked Sansa with his eyes alone if he could reciprocate then she would nod in both curiosity and fear. But he knew himself and where that would lead to. So he restrained his thoughts, thinking that his little bird was probably the only woman he would ever allow to touch him like this. _It’s always been this way. Ever since that first time when I escorted her back to her chamber from the tournament grounds in the middle of the night after her incompetent septa had fallen asleep drunk on the table. I told her about Gregor, frightening the living daylights out of her, yet she still managed to chirp that Gregor was no true knight and she put her hand on my arm_. It was the same arm that she was touching now.

  “You really are strong,” she said, in awe.

  Sandor couldn’t think what to say to that, so instead he reached out to her to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Sansa met his gaze quietly, her hand forgotten upon his arm.

  “If you are warm enough now, little bird,” he said eventually. “Might be we should get ready soon if we want to break our fast before the food runs out. I’m surprised that that fool Vintos hasn’t come knocking yet to bid us good morning.”

  Sansa giggled, a sound that he would love till the day he died.

 

\--

 

  They sat at a table for four in the common room to break their fast, and Sansa noticed that they weren’t the only ones who had rested a bit longer than usual since many of the tables and alcoves were occupied. After only a few moments, Medra the innkeep appeared beside their table, wooden spoon tucked into a pocket of her dirty apron, and she set three tankards of ale on their table, barely slopping any of their contents.

  “Good morrow to you two. How was your first night in the house?” she asked them.

  “Very pleasant, thank you,” Sansa replied. “The bed was comfortable and the hog we had for dinner last night was delicious.” _And there were no bugs on the matters_ , she thought, though it would’ve been impolite to say such a thing, even in compliment.

  “Of course it was good, I cooked it. What do you want for breakfast? We have porridge this morning and-”

  “A flagon of wine,” Sandor rasped at once.

  “Do you have any milk?” Sansa asked the innkeep.

  “Aye, we have _nasha_ , which is goat’s milk. And porridge, fried bacon, flatbread, honey sausage, wintercakes, baked crisp apples…”

  “I want the milk please and you don’t happen to have any lemoncakes, do you?”

  “Lemon cakes? No, sorry dear, not today.”

  _They probably won’t even taste the same as back home_. “Well a platter full of the wintercakes then please and a bit of everything else you mentioned except the porridge.”

  When Medra was gone, Sandor said, “You really like lemon cakes, don’t you?”

  Sansa smiled. “Yes, they’re my favorite food ever. I am as fond of them as you are of the taste of wine.”

  Sandor laughed at that as they waited for their food to arrive, trying to understand the talk at the tables around them and discover what was happening in the city. Some of Medra’s children were serving the food this morning (among them one of the twins who had filled the tub for her bath last night) so with every different dish they ordered a different child came to deliver it to their table.

  Sandor’s wine along with the honey sausage and fried bacon, were the first food to arrive, and Sansa’s mouth watered at the smell of it all. They shared the food, Sandor wolfing down twice as many servings as her. When her _nasha_ arrived, served in an iron cup, Sansa sniffed at it suspiciously before taking a sip. It tasted a bit different from the goat’s milk she’d had before, and when she asked Sandor to try it so he could tell her what was in it, he made a face and said that it was fermented goat’s milk laced with honey. Sansa laughed at his expression, but hadn’t dislike the taste so much due to the honey, so she ordered a second iron cupful. When the wintercakes arrived Sansa saw that they were bigger than any lemoncake she’d ever seen, although both were yellow. She grabbed one gingerly, feeling how warm it was since it had just come out of the oven, which made her grin as she remembered Vintos telling them yesterday that this is how he liked them best, before she took a big bite.

  The rich tastes of ginger and butter, pine nuts and sugar, cinnamon and bits of cherry, filled Sansa’s mouth- she concluded it was the next best thing, when there were no lemoncakes at hand. Sandor liked the wintercakes so much that he ate half of them with her, and by the time Vintos and his wife stepped through the door and into the common room, both Sandor and Sansa were feeling ready to burst- so full were their bellies. Yet Sansa stood up to greet her neighbors, Sandor following her lead.

  Vinto’s wife Frema was a thin girl, not as tall as Sansa, with hazel eyes and straight brown hair. She was holding Vintos’ hand as they headed towards them, a shy smile on her lips.

  “Ahh, so you decided to take the house then!” Vintos said, beaming as he bowed his head at Sansa and extended his hand to Sandor. Sandor looked at it as if Vintos was offering him something poisonous, but Sansa discreetly nudged him with her elbow, making Sandor finally shake Vintos’ hand. _This shaking of hands must be some custom here since I cannot remember anyone in Westeros doing this…_

  “Yes thank you Vintos, for showing us this inn. It’s been lovely so far and the food tastes delicious,” she replied in her best Valyrian, looking at Frema. “And this is your wife I dare say. Frema is it?”

  “Yes, hello,” said the shy girl. Now that she saw the married couple together she guessed that they were both older than her, yet younger than Sandor. “You are Alysanne?”

  “I am, pleased to meet you. And this is my dearest loyal friend, Edric.”

  Ferma’s eyes fell quickly on Sandor’s burns, but her husband must have prepared her for them because she only curtsied a little and said, “Honored.”

_If she is afraid at least she hides it better than I did when I first saw Sandor._

  Sandor grunted in reply and glanced at the two empty chairs at their table. “Won’t you join us?” he said, and by the sound of his voice Sansa could tell he was hoping against hope that they wouldn’t.

  “We’ve already broken our fast, but we will join you so we can get to know each other better,” Vintos replied, pulling a chair for Frema to sit in. Sandor looked uncomfortable but had enough good sense to do the same as Vintos, offering Sansa her chair, whole she was unable to hide a satisfactory grin appearing on her face, which she saw Frema had noticed.

  When the men sat down as well the small talk began, and thus Sansa learned more about their new friends. Frema was from the same village as Vintos, yet they hadn’t grown up together, as Vintos’ parents had brought him to Norvos at a young age to learn a trade and so they could all live a better life. They would often visit their family back in the little village yet it wasn’t until half a year ago that Frema, who was six and ten, and Vintos, who had lived twenty name days, saw each other again, and fell in love.

  Since Vintos worked in a weaver’s shop where tapestries were made and sold in the Low City, there was no question that the young couple would live in Norvos, thus he’d brought Frema to the Three Bells four months ago.

  As the talk turned to other matters, Sandor asked Vintos everything the latter could tell him about this city Sansa found herself talking to the older girl. She discovered that Frema had been startled at coming to Great Norvos, since she had never seen another part of the world that wasn’t her little village deep in the mountains.

  “This city was just so big and I lost my way so many times whenever I wandered off on my own. But I’ve grown to love it, Alysanne. Norvos really is beautiful and exciting and even if you and Edric don’t stay for long, I’m sure you will like it here.”

  Sansa smiled at Frema, wondering if she would once again have a girlfriend with whom she could talk to in the same way she’d talked to Jeyne Poole long ago. So Sansa took the girl’s hand between her own and replied with all honesty, “I’m sure you’re right, not only because this city must be exciting, but because Sa- Edric and I will have you two as friends.”

  Frema squeezed her hand, thanking her kindly. “Will you tell me about your Sunset Kingdoms one day..?”

  _My Sunset Kingdoms_. It was a strange thought _. My North..._ And then the meaning of those words hit her. _Now that Bran and Rickon are both dead, if something were to happen to Robb before he marries and sires an heir, I would be the heir to Winterfell and the North!_ That was something she’d never thought about before, and which made her tummy feel queasy. _Gods be good, I’ve been so sure that Robb will win that I never stopped to think what it would mean if he doesn’t. If he were to lose to the Lannisters, what would happen to the North?_ Sansa turned her head to look at Sandor. _Stop thinking about this, Sansa Stark! Robb will win the war and you will go back home and Sandor_ … _and Sandor_ … She would have thought more about how she wanted to end that sentence, but did not have time because at the moment Frema was still holding her hand, waiting for her answer.

  “Yes of course,” she told her new friend. “I’ve only ever been in the Riverlands, but I’ll tell you all that I know about them!” _Though I would much rather tell you about the North_ , Sansa thought.

  “So,” Vintos said, turning his attention to his wife and Sansa. “Alysanne, I’ve just suggested to Edric here that Frema and I show you the city today. Would you like that?”

  Sansa glanced at Sandor, puzzled but happy that he was willing to go on an outing with Vintos after he’d called him annoying. “Oh yes, Vintos! How kind of you- but don’t you have your work to attend to?”

  “Yes, I see my Frema has already told you about it. I work at Ysimbul’s House of Fine Woven Designs, but they give us one day off out of every seven, and since today happens to be that day, I’m free.”

  “It’s kind of you to show us Norvos on your free day,” Sansa said.

  “It’s a pleasure,” Vintos assured her, slapping Sandor on the back, a gesture which startled her ferocious sword shield and which made her laugh.

 

\--

 

  Great Norvos was very different from Pentos indeed, yet that didn’t stop Sansa from marveling at every garden, shop, guild halls, market, monuments, fountains, wide squares, or building they saw during the following weeks. Instead of lying by the seashore pleasantly in a gentle terrain, this city seemed at times like a maze to Sansa- a labyrinth with many levels and alleys that went all around the mountain which they learned was called Daughter Noyne. Norvoshi were very religious people, and they worshiped the river Noyne almost as much as they did its main flow, the Rhoyne, which they had referred to as Mother Rhoyne. There were little bridges that spanned the small streams that fed the Noyne as well, some of them covered, turning them into little canals. Sansa found that she liked to watch the old men and young boys sitting upon them with fishing rods, trying to catch the day’s share. Another thing Sansa liked was the air, which held the mingled scent of pines and rain and stone quarries, scents she found she was naturally inclined towards. It also rained frequently here, but it wasn’t necessarily a hindrance since it only made the lands around the city and beside the Noyne green and fertile. Rainy afternoons and nights meant that she and Sandor would find themselves sitting in their living room or in their bedroom at their little house, talking about everything and anything as they shared plates of wintercakes, resting in bed or upon the couches, remembering the events of the day dreaming of what was to come.

  One of the first times they’d done this, Sansa had voiced her new-found fears to Sandor about what would it mean for her if Robb lost the war. Although she could see that he had a pretty accurate idea of the two ways she could handle that potential situation, he told her to stop imagining things and pray instead to her foolish gods to make sure her brother won.

  “If that day ever comes, we’ll face it then,” he told her as she shaved his beard and trimmed his hair to his shoulder length.

  Most of the houses in Norvos were made of white-stucco while the roofs were made of tiles, and there were stone towers all around the city which somehow gave an austere effect to the view.

  Sansa liked to compare and contrast Norvos to Pentos and King’s Landing and White Harbor, and besides being fascinated by the way Great Norvos had been built over the centuries, she also observed that the deeper one traveled into Essos, the stranger fashions turned out. In Pentos, sailors from all over the world had made the city into a tapestry of mankind’s diversity, yet here it was harder to pick out which men were from where at times since almost all of them dyed and oiled their long mustaches, sweeping them up into points, while others preferred to fork their beards into the most unusual shapes and sizes. There were even those who wore golden rings in their jaws and ears, while others whom Sansa guessed were noblemen visiting the Low City had jewels encrusted in their noses or emeralds on their cheeks, making them as odd to Sansa’s eyes as she’d once considered the Pentoshi to be. The accents of the Norvoshi were also different from the soft Pentoshi sounds. Here men had a bass grumble which reminded her of the bells that chimed every day (a thing that still annoyed Sandor greatly). There were all kinds of trades here; from money-changers who would bite coins to see if they were for real, to slavers or builders, and weavers like Vintos who worked at the shops where the beautifully complicated tapestries renowned all over the world were made, to the traders who became wealthier every time a caravan from the east or the west passed by, those who loved with the Bearded Priests at their temple high on the peak of the Daughter Noyne.

  One of the things Sansa liked best was visiting the markets that appeared once a week all over the city with Sandor or at times Frema, where she encountered many wonders. From eastern spices she’d never smelled before, to whitewashed drinking halls and squares full of stalls where exotic food, dragonsbane and gemstones could be found from the cheapest to the most outrageous prices she’d ever seen before. The sounds of curses and shouts, laughter and lies in different tongues only served to make it a vibrant place to be. And the company of Vintos and Frema was also very enjoyable. Vintos was always pleasant to talk to and knew the Low City like the back of his hand, and Frema was there to talk to Sansa. She and Sandor once out for meal with the couple, and the four of them had a good time even if Sandor spent much of the evening, with a cup of wine on his hand and a brooding countenance. Sansa also liked the young couple because they didn’t pry on her and Sandor’s business as she had been sure would happen the day they first met Vintos. _They may have suspected at first that we were married or something, yet by now it’s clear to them that we are just friends._ How could it be otherwise? It made Sansa feel a bit sad that they wouldn’t think Sandor meant more to her than a friend, or that she meant more as well. 

  Stranger and Nan also seemed to be settling in, for each morning Sansa and Sandor visited them in the stable the horses would nod their heads up and down neighing at them expectantly over their stall doors. Sansa and Sandor would then take their mounts and explore the city’s cobblestone alleys, and there was even one afternoon when they became lost and ended up right at the banks of the Noyne. Trough the distance, Sansa could see the little houses where the poorest people of Norvos lived. The sun was hiding behind some hills when Sandor suddenly looked at her and said, “I’ll race you past those houses, little bird!”

  And he was off before Sansa could even blink. She laughed at how he’d cheated and tried to catch up, whispering encouragingly in Nan’s ear, the wind in her hair. Whether it was because Nan was younger and therefore quicker than the powerful warhorse, or because Sandor had decided to let her win, Stranger suddenly slowed down and Sansa and Nan were able to catch them, Sansa, laughing breathlessly, cheeks flushed.

  “You let me win on purpose,” Sansa accused Sandor when they stopped side by side beside the river.

  Sandor laughed wickedly and said, “Mayhaps, you’ll never know, little bird…”

  Sansa furrowed her brow, in both mirth and frustration, before Sandor reached out to cup her cheek. “Breathe now, little bird, or you’ll faint on me.”

  His callused thumb caressed her cheekbone for a moment before he let her go. Sansa was feeling content and happy as she smiled at Sandor, trying to let him know that he didn’t have to take his hand away. Sansa looked around, in love with the landscape, only to gasp as she saw a massive form ahead of them.

  “What is it?” Sandor asked at once, wheeling his horse towards where she was looking, his hand already going for his sword.

  Sansa _knew_ what it was even though she’d never actually see one. “Sandor, look! It’s… it’s an elephant!”

  Sandor looked just as amazed as she felt.

  “Bloody hells!” he swore. “You’re right, little bird…”

  “Do you think… do you think we can get a closer look?”

  Sandor’s face showed that he was as eager as she was to see the animal up close, yet he shook his head and pointed at it. “Seven hells, little bird! We might upset the creature!”

  Sansa rolled her eyes at him. “Surely the elephant won’t harm us if he isn’t doing anything wrong to that man,” she pointed out.

  “Elephants will turn on you like most animals. While I may be able to outdistance it with Stranger galloping, as if the seventh hell itself was after him, I won’t risk you or Nan getting closer to it.”

  “Oh, all right,” she agreed, a bit disappointed, yet touched by Sandor’s concern. She reluctantly turned her back on the sight of the beautiful animal and cantered away, with Sandor close at her side.

  It didn’t take long for Sansa to be as happy in Norvos as she’d ever been in Pentos. Sure, there were some things that she wished Norvos had, like the sea and the harbor she’d gotten to know so well in Pentos, and sometimes she wished she were different, such as the fact that they couldn’t step through the golden gates by the Sinner’s Steps. Sansa so longed to get a better look at the High City. In Pentos the magister’ manses and the Prince’s Palace had been visible to everyone, regardless of their birth or homeland, yet now all she could see were walls above her. Sansa did at times happen upon some nobles or their ladies at times down here in the Low City, but the only thing she noticed about them was their striking appearance. Rich ladies wore flowing silks that left shoulders, back and arms bare to the sight, a astonishing sight Sansa had only seen twice, since up here in the mountains the cold weather meant the ladies would also cover themselves with beautiful fur-lined jackets, decorated with beaded belts to accentuate their shapely waists. Even though a highborn lady in Westeros would never dream to wear such a revealing garment, Sansa wanted one of those dresses. _I would feel so beautiful in one of them_ , she thought once. The way her body was quickly turning into one of a young lady made her feel confident that her womanly curves and her tall stature would render such a garment even more striking dress on her.

  When such thoughts came upon her, however, she recalled that if she had stayed in King’s Landing and refused Sandor’s offer to take her away from the city, she would still be intended to be Joffrey’s queen and might have ended up marrying him in an ivory silk dress far lovelier than any of the dresses she saw the wealthy Norvoshi women wear. But that would have meant she would have had to pledge her love for the king in sight of the gods and be bound to him till death claimed him or her. Thus, she stayed silent every time she saw the fashionable women in Great Norvos, grateful that at least she and Sandor still had their heads, despite having defied the fury of House Lannister and the power of the Iron Throne.

 

\--

 

  It was a chilly rainy night and Sansa had just tended to the brazier, shoving the coals around so the house could become a bit warmer, for even with the fireplace lit over at the dining room, the cold winds still managed to chill their bones a bit. Sandor rested on his couch- which was the one closest to the corridor- watching Sansa braiding her hair on the other couch, sitting with her legs crossed underneath her. Sandor grinned at the sight of the little bird sitting in such a fashion, tired yet content. Every bit of him hurt, yet it was a sweet pain.

  Vintos had taken him to a blacksmith he knew whom he claimed was as tall and muscular as Sandor, and very good with a sword. Sandor hadn’t believed him at first, but the blacksmith was indeed just as he’d been described. He turned out to be a good blacksmith too, though what Sandor needed of him had little to do with any steel he could make, but rather the steel he could wield. Some way or another Vintos had managed to tell the blacksmith that Sandor wanted to train with him and the simple bald man had grinned in acceptance, not the least intimidated by the sight of Sandor’s scarred face.  And though the man was unfamiliar with any proper military training, he’d given Sandor a good fight. Sandor had missed feeling this way, tired and sore, yet happy that he was still capable of fighting for hours without end.

  The little bird hadn’t liked the idea of him fighting, but when he told her it was necessary for him as her sworn shield and as a man to keep up with his sword training, she had sighed and said that if he really must do it, then she wouldn’t mind.

  Besides the blacksmith and his new lessons Sandor was having as good a time here in the Free City of Norvos as he’d ever had in Pentos. Yet in the end he knew that it didn’t matter where he was, but only that Sansa was with him. _Fuck, I’m in so deep even north of the freezing Wall would be home for me so long as the little bird was there to be protected_.  Seeing her happy and knowing that he had a part in that warmed his heart, and in return he felt bloody good whenever Sansa bid him good morning with a sincere smile on her beautiful face, or whenever she grabbed his hand as she drifted off to sleep. It even made him happy just to see her walk bare-footed around their house or when she merrily gossiped away with Frema. _Sansa liked to talk to girls like this once_ , he recalled. _So now Frema must be like a long-awaited answer to one of the little bird’s prayers_. Sandor knew there were things Sansa needed to learn and talk about with other women, but it hadn’t been until now that it was possible. _At least I suppose it’s better that she hangs around the likes of Frema than of Cersei Lannister_ …

  At present Sansa was humming a song Frema was teaching her, which was nice to Sandor’s ears. He closed his eyes for a bit, letting the sound of her voice wash over him, before he heard her stand up. Sandor opened his eyes and saw Sansa standing before him, looking like the Maiden herself come to life. She was wearing her white cotton nightgown, with a shawl over her shoulders, her skin pale, her hair as red as ever, her face lovely.

  “You really are exhausted, are you not?” she asked him.

  “I am,” he replied, wondering what she was getting at.

  Sansa sighed deeply. “I think I know a way to help the pain go away a bit.”

  Sandor raised his good eyebrow at her. “What do you mean?”

 “Frema told me about it and I think it will work. Come to bed please.”

  Sandor wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or run away from the little bird, yet he did neither. He stood up and did as she asked him, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  Sansa got into bed and knelt behind him.

  “Sansa, what are you going- ”

  “Shhh,” she purred into his ear. “You have to relax for this to work.”

  Sandor was intrigued, so he held his tongue as he felt Sansa’s hand on his shoulders, beginning to gently massage the tired muscles of his shoulder blades. Her hands were so gentle and delicate that she had to squeeze a bit hard for him to actually feel her working on him, and though this felt more strange than nice, he closed his eyes, picturing what Sansa must look like behind him, and stifling a shudder whenever one of her fingers would casually caress the nape of his neck.

  When Sansa was done she asked him nervously how he felt, and he didn’t lie when he replied, “Better.”

  Sansa beamed at him before he rasped, “It’s your turn, little bird.”

  “Oh!” she said. “It wasn’t… I did not… All right then.”

  They exchanged places, and as he knelt behind her, Sandor suddenly felt nervous. He’d never done anything like this and didn’t want his huge hands to hurt or break the little bird’s body, so as delicately as he could manage, he placed Sansa’s braid in front of her and began to knead the muscles of her shoulders gently. After some moments he found that his hands had strayed to her upper arms and collarbone, as he moved them back and forth, his long fingers splayed over her upper body. He could feel that both Sansa, by her straight position, and Sandor, by the sudden tension throbbing in his cock, were tense and he understood that somewhere along the way in the matter of a few heart beats, things had changed.

  The dangerous idea of how it would feel to cup her breasts strayed into his mind, refusing to leave him, driving him to caress Sansa with circular movements, the tips of his fingers lingering just above her breasts, pressing harder than he intended.

  Instead of telling him to stop or stepping away from him in disgust and fear, the little bird remained seated, leaning into his touch as a little moan of pleasure escaped her, making his cock hardened further, pressing against her back. 

_Fucking bleeding buggering hells!_ He thought as he realized what he’d been doing. He released Sansa, a bit startled that he had provoked that sound from her, and couldn’t believe it when she turned her body around and looked at his face.

  “Thank you,” was all she said, a little satisfactory smile playing on her lips, before she stood up and began to blow the candles out, leaving him kneeling on the bed, aroused and utterly unprepared for this.

 

\--

 

  The following morning Sansa and Frema were buying at the market besides the largest bathhouse in the city, some salted fish, hard bread, eggs, barely, turnips, beans and lemons (Medra the innkeep was finally going to make Sansa some lemon cakes) and spices Medra had asked them to get for dinner that night when Frema remarked, “You’re very quiet, Alys. Is something amiss?” Alys was her pet name for Alysanne, what she believed Sansa was called. 

  Sansa shook her head, breaking out of her reverie about last night and the feel of Sandor’s rough yet gentle hands upon her. _He has never touched me like that before_ , she thoughts. _We almost kissed in the common room of that inn, but only because I started it, and not even when we had our pillow fight did he touch me. Yet yesterday_ …

  Sansa had offered to knead his tense tired muscles because she wanted him to feel better, and only once or twice had she dare caress his neck, yet when his warm hands began to stray over to her collarbone and chest, moving lower, rubbing her, her heart had begun to beat wildly. The things she was beginning to feel had made her dizzy and breathless, and just when Sansa had been sure she couldn’t hold in her breath a moment longer, a _moan_ had escaped her lips. Once she would have died of shame at having a grown man hear that sound coming from her, but she’d lived too long with Sandor to feel ashamed about that. Sansa had felt him tense behind her immediately after and he had removed his hands from her, yet she knew that there had to be a reason for him to have started things this time!

  “Amiss?” Sansa repeated, looking at Frema. “Oh no, of course not sweet Frema. I was just thinking…”

  “About something good dare I say?”

  Sansa bit her lip, a gesture which reminded her of her little sister Arya. “I’m not so sure,” she began.

  “Does it have to do with Edric?” Frema asked, smiling, without any preamble.

  Sansa stared wide-eyed at the older girl. “How do you know?”

  Frema laughed. “Because beside him there isn’t anyone for you to trouble your pretty little head over for.”

  Sansa tried to laugh along with Frema, though it was less than convinving since she considered this to be an important matter.

  “What has he done?” Frema said.

  “I… He hasn’t…” she stammered, before regaining her composure. _Come on, you’ve been living with the man for months and now you can do nothing but stammer?_ ” “Frema, what does Vintos make you feel?”

  Frema blinked at her. “What?”

  “I mean… when you two are alone. Does he… does he do something to make you love him or… Is there some special particular thing he… How did you know he was the right man for you?”

  Frema was too good a friend to laugh at Sansa’s struggles, but she did put a hand on her shoulder, in understanding. _That’s where Sandor touched me last_ _night_ , Sansa couldn’t help but think.

  “Alys, I know you and Edric aren’t married, but still, you do know what goes on in a marriage bed, don’t you?”

  Sansa thought of so many little moments with Sandor and nodded, not so sure she knew _exactly_.

  Before Frema could go on however, a small group of people began to rush past them whispering and pointing excitedly at the corner of the street.

  “What is happening?” Sansa wondered out loud, but Ferma could only shake her head.

  Just then a golden litter appeared in the middle of the small group of people, decorated with beautiful light blue silk hangings, reminding Sansa of a similar litter the Imp Tyrion Lannister had owned to transport his small self around King’s Landing.

  There was nothing small about this litter though. Sansa and Ferma watched, as curious as everybody else, until the litter passed right before them, and Sansa saw a very handsome man parting the curtains with his hand to get a good look at the world outside his litter. Their eyes met and Sansa saw that, where her own eyes were as blue as a sunlit sea, this man’s eyes were the striking color of blue topaz. The man smiled and inclined his head at her, and then the litter passed them by.

  “Who was that?” she heard Ferma say.

  “A very handsome nobleman to be sure,” Sansa replied.

  “Oh yes I could certainly see that… Where was I?”

  “You were going to tell me about what goes on in a marriage bed,” Sansa said. Even saying the words brought a blush to her face.

  Yet it seemed that fate didn’t want her to learn the answer to that question that day, for again they were interrupted before Frema could go on, though now the cause of it was one of Medra’s little boys.

  “Mother sends me to fetch you home,” he told them breathlessly, making them giggle.

  “Tell her we will be there in a moment,” Frema told the boy.

  Yet he shook his head. “Mother said that I couldn’t return until I brought you two back with me.”

  Sansa gave out a resigned sigh and said, “We can’t have that happening. Lead the way, we’ll follow…”

  By the time they returned to the _Three Bells_ _Inn_ , Sansa was feeling excited as she recalled there would be lemoncakes tonight, and the thought of how good they would taste drove what had happened between her and Sandor off her mind… for a little while at least, since she was determined to learn as much as Frema was willing to tell her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading, reviewing and for the kudos! They mean the world to me :D


	14. The Scabbard and the Swordbelt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don't gain anything by doing this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)  
> *To my lovely Betas: swiftsnowmane, onborrowedwings & gingerbeer48, I hope you don’t get tired of how many times I tell you all how amazing and nice you are for helping me out with this! :D  
> *The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.

  “Oh it is _beautiful_!” Sansa exclaimed happily, clasping her hands together. “It is just what I had imagined!” She held her hands out for the new scabbard, immensely pleased with it. Two weeks previously (time enough to have found a decent present for the other) Sansa and Sandor had decided that the time to celebrate their combined namedays had arrived. In just two days Sansa would finally be able to behold the sight of Sandor’s face as she presented him with his gifts.

  All the arrangements were ready. They had planned to have a little outdoor adventure to celebrate, and while Sansa had decided to cook, for the very first time, the food they would be eating, it had fallen on Sandor to find a place outside the city where they could have their meal. Sandor had assured her that he had already found the place, but since it was meant to be a surprise, no amount of her pleading served to make him reveal the location.

  Prior to their little picnic, they had decided to have an exchange of presents. While Sansa looked forward to that moment with excitement, it had been difficult to find a gift she thought Sandor would truly appreciate. After long days and sleepless nights of trying to figure out what she could possibly give to her sworn shield, the answer came to her as she sat on her couch in their living room. Alone and lost in thoughts of their namedays’ celebrations, her eyes had fallen on Sandor’s current scabbard- an old thing, which looked as though Sandor had been carrying it since long before he’d ever visited Winterfell with King Robert.

  Sansa had then closely examined the scabbard with detail, concluding that something simple but of better quality would serve _. But where do I get the coin to have a new one made?_ She had wondered, until she remembered the jewelry she had hidden in her smallclothes. _I’ll sell my moonstones and golden chain tomorrow_.

  The next step had been to seek Vintos and Frema’s advice about where she could meet someone who could create a decent scabbard, and to make them swear to her that Sandor would not learn about her gift by their lips. _I want him to be really surprised_. _He has to see that I know his tastes just as well as he does mine_.

  “You’ve done good work with this,” Frema, who was standing besides Sansa, told Yuzma, a cousin of an acquaintance of Vintos, and the man whom Sansa had paid to make the scabbard. They were standing in the middle of the room where Yuzma worked, both girls admiring the new dark leather sheath, as they ran their fingers down the smooth surface of its parts. Sansa held the new sword belt she had also requested to be made for Sandor and attached it to the scabbard, more than pleased with the results. With two gifts it would be harder for Sandor to not like her present.

  Yuzma bowed his short neck and gave a grunt for a response. In High Valyrian, Sansa asked him if he could please pack up the gifts, but it was a dialect this man must not have really understand, because Frema kept repeating her words to him in the Valyrian spoken in Norvos. When they took their leave and stepped outside Yuzma’s entrance, Sansa’s packages tucked beneath her arm tightly, they were greeted by the sight of a large crowd at the wide square in front of them.

  Frema turned to look at her and said, “I think Edric is really going to like your gift!”

  Sansa smiled at that, yet she couldn’t help a small blush from creeping up her neck. She tried to behave as if she was not aware of it by saying, “Do you know what he is going to give me for a present?”

  “Aye, I do,” Frema replied, grinning wickedly. “You are going to go love it Alys, but I won’t tell you what it is if that’s what you’re getting at. You will just have to wait till the day after tomorrow arrives to see it!”

  Sansa laughed, and stuck her tongue out playfully at her friend, knowing that it would be impossible to divine any further clues from her.

  “Here, give me one of the presents so you don’t have to carry them both yourself.”

  Sansa shifted her parcels around as Frema grabbed the sword belt.

  “Thank you,” Sansa said.

  They started to make their way through the crowd, yet it only took a few moments for Sansa to realize that the square had not been _this_ full when they had passed through on their way to Yuzma’s.

  “Why are there so many people here? Is this a special day? A festival?”

  Frema frowned. “I don’t think so. It must be something else because it wasn’t this crowded earlier. Maybe we should go back and wait till it clears up a bit.”

  Sansa thought that a fine notion but then she saw a flaming torch swirling in circles up towards the sky, and realized that there must be a juggler doing a performance since people all around them began to clap their hands in aproval. Sansa hugged her parcel closer to her heart and asked Frema if she would like to get a better look. Frema didn’t seem to care much, so she shrugged and followed Sansa towards the center of the square, as the sun of Norvos shine up in the sky, a rare event in this particular place in Essos.

  Yet sun or no sun, there was a great throng of people around Sansa, and if it hadn’t been for her tall height she would not have been able to see a thing. As it was though, she did manage to glimpse a little man standing on the shoulder blades of another, as he juggled some torches with flames crackling up and swooshing through the air, while a little monkey danced around them a woman played the flute.

  “Alys, it’s too crowded here and I can’t see a thing. Let’s go back!” Frema called from somewhere behind her.

  Sansa nodded in agreement, holding on to the wrapped up scabbard in her arms, casting one last look at the entertainment. As she turned around, she heard a man beside her suddenly yell, “You there, stop! Someone grab him, that boy is stealing my silver..! I said STOP!”

  In the moment the man exclaimed the last word he flung his arms to his sides hysterically, and before Sansa could even blink, his flailing arm struck her so hard on her head that she stumbled against a man behind her, before slipping and falling to the ground, losing Sandor’s scabbard.

  The blow to the head instantly brought back into her mind all the horrible memories of Joffrey commanding the Kingsguard to hit her… and all of them had, except Sandor… _Sandor_ … and amidst the pain and overwhelming feelings that this provoked in her, Sansa felt herself succumbing into darkness. Her head pounding in pain, she heard a woman screaming and towering shapes moving all about her; yet one descended over her.

  When she opened her eyes again she heard Frema’s voice saying, as if from far away, “Please Alys darling, _please_ wake up!”

  The next thing she realized was that she was in someone’s strong arms, and she once again remembered. _Sandor_ , _he saved me again._

  “Sand-” she began to say dizzily, before a voice said, “Do not speak please. Everything is going to be all right.”

  _That’s a man’s voice_ , _yet it isn’t Sandor’s rasping_ _comforting growls_. She fluttered her eyes open a bit only to be greeted by the sight of two beautiful blue eyes staring down at her.

  “Oh” she said, before her eyelids closed and she was lost once again. The next time she woke up she felt a bit better, which was odd since her head hurt fiercely. Sansa blinked, adjusting her sight to her surroundings.

  “She has woken up again, look,” a voice said to her right. Sansa became conscious of sitting on a stone bench, with Frema hovering beside her, a look on her face of relief that words could not express. She also realized she had seen the man she had mistaken for Sandor before; the man with the strikingly beautiful eyes that she now remembered she had seen before. _He is the nobleman inside the litter who acknowledged me with a bow of his head after he caught me staring at him!_ And it appeared that she was once again staring at the man, and while some instinct in Sansa knew it was rude, she could not seem to help herself _. What is he doing here? Where am I?_

  “You gave your friend here and myself quite a fright, you know,” the nobleman said, smiling kindly at her. His voice was deep, yet clear and reassuring.

  Sansa frowned, and rested her aching head on her hand. “What happened? Where am I? Where are the presents?”

  Remembering Sandor’s presents, Sansa forgot her pain and turned around, only to sigh in relief as she saw the parcels containing Sandor’s scabbard and sword belt were wrapped up beside her. Her fingers brushed against one parcel and rested there.

  Frema opened her mouth to answer her, but was apparently still too overwhelmed for she began to cry into her handkerchief. Confused, Sansa turned to the nobleman, questioningly as she felt a little wet trickle running down her forehead.

  “Pardon me,” the man said, leaning closer to Sansa, as he produced a silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed lightly and delicately at Sansa’s head. “You scratched your head against a rock when you hit the ground and are bleeding a little.”

  “Bleeding..?” And then she remembered _._ Of course, they had been in the crowded square, trying to get a good look at the entertainers when some cutpurse had been caught trying to steal from the man who had been standing beside Sansa, and in his anger the man raised his arms and struck her accidentally. _Ser Meryn and Ser Boros did it on purpose though._ _It does not hurt as much this time, but I still fainted_ , Sansa mused.

  Sansa returned to the present as the nobleman’s blue eyes met hers. She knew that she was probably acting rudely so, remembering her courtesies, she said, “I thank you for saving me, my lord…” When she saw him smiling again she grew hesitant. _Maybe I got it wrong_. “You _did_ save me, did you not?”

  “I see you are remembering what happened, so I do not think there has been any serious harm done. You were unconscious only for a few moments. Still, to be sure, would you like me to fetch a healer?”

  “Oh no!” Sansa exclaimed instantly. She did not want to make a big fuss of this. After all, except for her current headache, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong. _I’ve suffered worse blows than that one, my lord_ ; _blows to my body, to my soul, to my heart._   She did not say that out loud though. “Please, do not do that. Don’t trouble yourself so. Just give me a few more moments and I will be all right once again.”

  The nobleman nodded and said, “Then I shall remain here until I see that you are indeed feeling better.”

  He turned his head around and ordered his servant to fetch his litter. It wasn’t until the nobleman spoke again, that Sansa noticed a stranger standing nervously in the background, balancing on the heels of his feet. The servant nodded and was off at once.

  When the nobleman looked at her again and smiled, two little dimples appearing in his cheeks, Sansa finally began to notice all the details on his handsome face. He had brown curly hair, was well-built, being tall and lean, and even had a ridiculous cleft chin which Sansa wasn’t sure if she liked or not. The most beautiful thing about him though was his eyes. If she had been struck by how blue they were once, as she saw him pass by for a moment, now that he stood here in front of her, Sansa simply could not find anything made by man or the gods to compare them with. _Not even the crown’s jewels in Westeros shone like this nobleman’s eyes._ _He does not look Norvoshi_. He did not have the mustaches or the forked oiled hairstyles or the coloring common in these parts. He was clean-shaven and his hair was closely cropped. _I can’t be sure if he is younger or older than Sandor_. She suddenly wished she did not have blood on her face.

  Just then Frema sniffed and both Sansa and the nobleman turned to look at her.

  “I am well, Frema dear. Please stop crying.”

  Frema threw her arms around Sansa’s neck and hugged her tight. Sansa embraced her friend in return, noticing a twinkle of amusement sparkle on the man’s eyes. Sansa felt like rolling her eyes at him too but instead she broke into a laugh and grabbed Sandor’s gifts. “I think I am now all right. Thank you for not losing sight of the gifts, Frema.”

  She managed to stand up without her head spinning more than once, and sighed in contentedly as she took hold of Frema’s arm. “Once again, I thank you my lord for aiding us.”

  Sansa gave him a demure curtsy after noticing that the top of her head reached his chin, but he waved it all away. “Please, will you two not allow me to accompany you to your house to make sure you arrive there safely?”

  Sansa and Frema exchanged quick glances, as Frema nudged her in her ribcage, arching an eyebrow at her, her tears dried up by now. Sansa felt honored, but still…

  “Excuse me my lord, but we do not even know your name,” Sansa said, feeling the need to point that out.

  He broke into a nice laugh at that and replied, “Yes, I am sorry! It would seem I have forgotten my manners. My name is Arman Nervere, a member of the benevolent and honorable magisters of Great Norvos, daughter of the mighty Rhoyne.”

  Frema’s eyes went as wide as saucers when she heard that, yet Sansa was not surprised. _I knew he was a nobleman since the first moment I saw him… I wonder if he will think the same of me?_

  “I am Alysanne and this is my good friend Frema,” Sansa said, avoiding giving her false surname as well.

  Arman surprised her then, because suddenly he began to speak in the Common Tongue, quite fluently, though with a slight accent. “Your accent tells me you are not from here, Alysanne.”

  Sansa agreed, noting that Arman had a quick and clever mind. She laughed and confirmed his suspicions by saying, “And your question leads me to believe that you are quite a learned lord. Forgive me, but would it be _Lord_ Arman, or- ?”

  “No, no just call me Arman. There are no “my lords” or “my ladies” in Norvos.”

  Sansa told Frema what had just transpired so she could know what was going on, and their odd little party began to walk down the street, heading for _The Three Bells_. It turned out that Arman was a very pleasant fellow, and had even offered his litter to Frema and Sansa in order to arrive more comfortably to the inn, but the girls declined, preferring to walk. When Arman went to give instructions to his servant, Sansa whispered to Frema’s ear, “Are all noblemen so amiable in Norvos?”

  Frema shrugged, beaming. “I don’t know. This is the first noble person I’ve met!”

  Sansa squeezed her hand then, wondering what her friend would say if she knew Alysanne was really Sansa Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, and sister to the Young Wolf, King Robb of the North.

  When they finally arrived home, Sansa was hopeful no one would be around to see them arrive with their new escort, but fate was not kind in this, for when they finally spotted the inn, Medra was outside sweeping the entrance with a broom. The innkeeper looked at them with surprise, smoothing her dirty apron, as they approached.

  “Alys, who is- oh, what happened to you, dear?” she asked as her eyes fell first on Arman and then on her cut.

  “We were watching some jugglers over at Tenetze’s square,” Frema explained, “when a cutpurse stole some silver from a man standing besides Alys, and in his haste to get to the boy he accidentally hit Alys who went sprawling to the ground and fainted. But thankfully the noble Arman Nervere saw the incident and helped Alys.”

  “ _Nervere_ …” Medra repeated looking at Arman. Then she swore under her breath and curtsied. “Oh!  That was very good of you, kind magister. I’ve always heard that the proud and ancient house of Nervere is known for their generous and selfless acts, and I am glad to see that it was not a lie… Alysanne, we need to clean your cut. Come inside child, I’ll have one of the lads put some water to boiling… Please magister, won’t you come inside as well? It would be a great honor.”

  Sansa was amused at how Medra was responding to this unexpected visit, and caught a glance of Arman’s face that told her that he was also entertained, yet he surprised her when he agreed to pay a visit to Medra’s establishment.

  “Medra, have you seen Edric?” Sansa asked the innkeeper. She was anxious to see Sandor.

  “Wha-? Edric?” she repeated, looking lost for a moment. “Oh Edric- no of course I haven’t seen Edric, Alys. I’ve been cleaning the house all morning. Maybe Vintos knows.”

  “I’ll go and see if Vintos is in the house,” Frema offered.

  “Oh please do,” Sansa said, remembering. “Won’t you take the packages and hide them in your house until I can give them to Edric?”

  Frema nodded and took the scabbard from Sansa’s arms, before quickly bowing in respect to Arman as she hurried to the courtyard behind the inn.

  Sansa was left alone with Medra and an amused Arman, waiting at her side, with a coy smile on his face. The neighbors were beginning to appear, wishing to know what was happening as Arman’s servant arrived with the litter, transported by four tall guardsmen.

  Sansa did not wish to make her accident a bigger issue than it was, so she hurried into _The Three Bells_ common room. Medra had her daughter heat some water, as she donned a new, cleaner apron. Thankfully, Sansa noted the common room was empty as she waited for Arman to walk inside before she sat on a chair. She wondered why a magister of Norvos would wish to linger with a girl he had just met, when surely he must have more important duties with to fill his time. Sansa had lived at court too long not to question this nobleman’s behavior. _I cannot think of many lords or ladies back in King’s Landing who would have taken so much trouble to ensure a girl they helped got safely back home_. Still, rare as it was, a man of high birth trying to win the people’s love with these sorts of acts- like helping a maid or accepting a woman’s offer to her house- was not that unheard of, she supposed.

  Arman took the seat beside Sansa and thanked Medra when she brought him a cup of wine. He had not asked for one, but nonetheless he took a sip.

  As Medra began to dab at Sansa’s cut, she winced as she felt a sting.

  “It’s only the snail’s vinegar, Alys. It will help close the cut much quicker.”

  “She is right, you know,” Arman agreed, in the Common Tongue.

  Medra looked at him at that, but returned to cleaning Sansa’s cut.

  “Excuse my asking Arman, but how did you happen to see that I was hurt? Why would a magister be in the middle of a crowd in the low City?”

  Arman chuckled, and replied, “I was coming back from visiting a friend who lives down by the Noyne, and I told my servants to take me near the crowd to see what all the commotion was about, only to see the whole incident that befell you. When your friend Frema screamed I was out of the litter at once and went out to assist you.”

  “Oh,” Sansa said again. Then she frowned, “May I ask you how do you know the common tongue, Arman?”

  Arman smiled, remembering. “My aunt taught it to me as a boy. She lived in the Seven Kingdoms for many years and can speak it fluently.”

  “By the way you speak of her, I can tell that you are close to her.”

  Arman’s dimples appeared again as he seemed to recall his aunt’s face. “She is… She is my father’s first cousin and I just returned a fortnight ago from visiting her at her estate on the hills of the Nizzis. She stays for half a year in her manse there, preferring the quiet of the mountains to the bustle of the city.”

  “And have you ever been to Westeros?” she asked him, since that was of more importance to her than where his aunt liked to retire to.

  He laughed at that, making Sansa wonder how _that_ could be funny. “No, I have not. Nor do I think I ever will. The Sunset Kingdoms are too far away and I do not see my duties to this city permitting me a trip any time soon.”

  Sansa nodded, wondering what she should say next. Thankfully the appearance of Vintos and Frema spared her the need.

  “Alys, are you all right?” Vintos asked her, stepping beside her, looking worried as he tried to get a look at what Medra was doing.

  “Yes Vintos, I am all right. It was just a little cut, nothing to worry about. I do not believe you’ve met my rescuer?”

  Vintos took off his hat in respect when he saw Arman sitting with Sansa, and offered him his hand. Arman stood up and took it, saying that he was honored to meet him.

  Sansa did the introductions and then asked if Vintos knew were Edric was.

  “He’s taken your horses for some new shoes. I’ll go and fetch him.”

  “Thank you. Tell him I will be waiting at our house.”

  When Vintos was gone, Arman said that he had to leave as well, but was sure the kind innkeeper who had some very fine wine in her establishment would finish her work on the cut soon. Medra and Frema stood to the side as Arman kissed her hand and said, “It was very pleasant to meet you, Alysanne, even though the circumstances were unpleasant.”

  Sansa smiled, thanked him one last time and bid him goodbye, thinking that this had been a strange morning indeed!

  “What a lucky girl you are, Alys!” Medra told her, chuckling. “He would be a good man to have for a friend, you know…”

  _A friend_ … That felt odd. She had just met Arman and would never see him again, so how could he be her friend? _I want Sandor_ , Sansa thought yet again. She knew he would not be pleased with her cut, but at least she had managed to get his present safely back to the inn.

  “Thank you for looking at my cut Medra, and thank you for everything Frema dear. If you would excuse me, I think I will rest a little bit.”

  She stopped at the door to say, “Frema, have you hidden Edric’s gifts?”

  When her friend nodded Sansa smiled, and said, “Good.”

 

\--

 

  Sandor was instructing the blacksmith how to shoe a horse properly when he saw Vintos of all people running up to meet him.

  “What is it?” Sandor barked out loudly, straightening up, his hand resting for support on Stranger’s hindquarters.

  “It’s Alysanne! She got stuck on the head and-”

  “WHAT!” Sandor yelled, incredulous. His insides tightened painfully as the words Vintos had spoken began to make more sense. _Sansa is hurt?_

  A black, mad rage seized hold of him, desperate for answers as he was, and before he knew it he had grabbed Vintos by the front of his tunic and had pushed him against the wall. “What the bloody hell are you saying?” he rasped.

  “Tha- that Alys got struck on the head and- and fainted… bu- t- t she’s all right now. Frema and-”

  “Where the fuck is she?” Sandor bellowed, letting go of Vintos and stepping towards Stanger. He jumped onto his saddled horse quickly, ignoring the blacksmith’s frightened look.

  “She is all right now”, Vintos assured him, his hands shaking. “Medra cleaned her cut, but Alys asked me to tell you if you could go to her.”

  “Take Alys’ mare back to the inn,” he ordered Vintos before he galloped away, down the cobbled streets of bloody Norvos, urging Stranger to go faster, not caring if he rode someone down if they were in his way. Thoughts which could barely be called rational crossed his mind, one after the other, each more dreadful than the last. _The little bird was hurt and fainted and I wasn’t there to bloody help her. What kind of a sworn shield lets this happen?_ He asked himself. Thankfully Vintos said she was all right now, but Sandor wouldn’t believe it until he saw her with his own eyes.

  When Sandor finally arrived at the _The Three Bells_ he rode right into Stranger’s stall, dismounted, and crossed the courtyard towards their house. He heard some women calling to him, yet the look of anger that he gave them made them shut up all right. As he walked towards his and Sansa’s house he spied those fucking twins who were in charge of filling the little bird’s tub and who always goggled at Sansa without actually being able to _say_ a bloody word to her, holding some flowers in their hands, loitering outside the door, looking uncertain. Sandor cursed out loud making them jump out of their skins as he had wanted them to, and they hurried away, still clutching their bleeding flowers in their hands.

  In three heartbeats Sandor opened the door to the house and saw Sansa sitting in the living room, looking a bit pale, unharmed but for a red cut on her forehead. The sight of it drew a groan from him as he remembered the day of the riots in King’s Landing when he had saved her from getting the same fate as Lollys Stokeworth. _Did some bloody raper do this to her?_ They had been nearly a month in Norvos and Sansa was looking less like a young girl and more like the beautiful young woman with every passing day, and it wouldn’t surprise him if someone had made the mistake of trying to get his way with the little bird. Already Sandor had caught men almost every day glancing back at Sansa several times after she passed them by in the street, his guts twisting in anger and jealousy. 

  Cursing himself once again for not being there to protect her, he walked over to his little bird, who stood up as he came closer, and without words, Sandor hugged her tightly. Sansa’s arms embraced him as well, as she buried her head in his chest, making him tremble with relief that he was finally with her. He kissed the top of her head as his hands brushed her back and hair, both of them desperately clinging tighter to the other. Sansa’s hands rested on the small of his back before moving to his shoulders, before settling at his sides.

  After a long moment they drew apart slightly, and Sandor looked down at Sansa, getting a closer look at her injury. It wasn’t that bad- even the slightest head-wound tended to bleed copiously, but the fear that had come over him still lingered, so out of instinct, he lowered his head and kissed her injured forehead.

  Sansa whimpered at that and sighed his name, though she did not cry or shed a single tear. When he drew back, he cupped her cheek and asked her what had happened.

  The little bird actually chuckled at that, and her hand came up to rest on the one that was holding her face. “I’m embarrassed to tell you, Sandor. It’s so silly that I’m afraid you’ll think-”

  “Tell me,” he said. He _needed_ to know.

  After Sansa was done, Sandor sat on the chair she’d been occupying before, thinking over it all. He had asked her what on earth she and Frema were doing over at Tenetze’s square, and he _did_ think that it was foolish to risk herself by being in a crowd just because they had felt like exploring the city this morning. Sansa had told him that it hadn’t hurt as much as the blows she’d once received, which made his heart go out to her at the same time as he looked away from her eyes, remembering how he had just stood there when that sadistic golden piece of shit entertained himself with the sight of hurting Sansa. At least this nobleman had managed to help Sansa a bit, _Aye, and did what you ought to have done yourself_ , and had been there for the little bird.

  “I wish I could bloody well thank this man for what he did,” he admitted to Sansa.

  “He stayed for a while in the common room as Medra tended my cut, but what caught my attention was that he spoke the Common Tongue,” Sansa said, walking to the chair in front of his.

  Sandor shrugged. “He is a buggering rich magister, little bird. He has to know something in order to maintain that post.”

  Sansa gave him a look. “I know that, I’m sure he is very learned, but he told me that his aunt had been the one that taught him, and that this aunt had lived in Westeros for many years.”

  “I still don’t see how that matters, Sansa. We won’t see him again, so who cares who taught him how to speak? The only thing I care about is that he saved you and was there to help you when I wasn’t.”

  Sansa caught his eyes at that, and he didn’t look away. “I’m sorry,” was all he managed to say in the end.  

  Sansa didn’t say anything to that, making him regret having said even those two words at once. _But how can I tell her that I am sorry for just standing there and allowing those bloodless worms to hit her back when we were under the Lannisters’ control?_ And then, history had repeated itself, for instead of protecting Sansa like he’d said, he had been with a buggering blacksmith when she needed him.

  “Sandor, it was not your fault, so don’t do this. Don’t start blaming yourself for it. Nothing happened. I’m here safe and sound.”

  “Sansa,” he said, his voice sounding like two wood saws grinding together. “I’m sorry because I promised to protect you and when you needed me most, I wasn’t there.”

  “Sandor, are you forgetting that you saved my life by taking me away from my prison in King’s Landing? Have you forgotten that you’ve crossed half the world with me just so that I could keep my life?”

  “Little bird, it’s just that-”

  “Just what? Sandor, honestly, you can’t expect to be by my side every waking moment, waiting for the instant when I might get injured. What happened today could have just as easily happened to Frema.”

  Sandor couldn’t help but look at Sansa with fondness and awe. _She is all right and probably wishing to forget this morning and yet you come here reminding her of her ordeal, and making her comfort you when it should be the other way around_.

  So Sandor nodded his head and said, “All right, we will talk about this no more. Just promise me that tomorrow you won’t leave _The Three Bells_. I don’t want you exposing yourself so soon.”

  Sansa laughed at that and started walking towards the living room. “If I do not leave here tomorrow it won’t be because I fear getting caught in another mob, you know, but because I’m going to be busy all day long cooking the meal for our namedays.”

  _Shit_ , he thought. _Our bloody namedays_. If he was honest with himself, he _was_ looking forward to the day after tomorrow, but he was also too bloody nervous about what Sansa would think about his gift for her (which Vintos and Frema were currently hiding in their house) and about the little trip he’d planned for them.

  He snorted at Sansa’s words about tomorrow though, and followed her into the bedroom.

  “And am I actually going to be expected to eat it?” he said, teasing her.

  “Sandor!” she said, throwing a pillow at him.

  “It was a jest, little bird,” he said, laughing harshly. “A bloody jest. I’ll eat your cooking and have a second serving if you like.”

  “Be careful, I may hold you to your word you know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reads this!!!! your words and thoughts make my days better :D


	15. The Namedays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don't gain anything by doing this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)  
> *To the wonderful betas: swiftsnowmane, onborrowedwings & gingerbeer48, as always, I could not have done this without you. Thank you for helping me out :D  
> *The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.

When Sansa woke up on the morning of their namedays’ celebrations, the first thing she became aware of was that there was a heavy weight crushing her belly. Blinking, she only had to move her neck a little bit to realize that Sandor had sometime in the night curled against her to the point that he was hugging her, as he rested his head on her tummy. Sansa lay still in the bed, not daring to move, instantly treasuring this moment. What a nice way to start this day, she thought drowsily. Though Sandor was one of the biggest men she had ever seen, the weight of him on her didn’t bother her. Sansa even smiled then as she noticed that they had been sleeping holding hands. She looked at the back of his head and at the sight of his imposing shoulder blades for some time.  
He is muscled like a bull in the prime of his life! she mused. She knew he could cut men in two with a single swing of his sword, and he would probably be able to crush a man to death with a hug, or break someone’s neck or hand with his powerful strength, yet Sansa had come to know Sandor so well that whenever she took in his towering height and muscular arms, she saw far beyond the menacing exterior. Instead she saw how well-built he was, and she was marveled at how a man of such immense size and strength could treat her with a delicacy that was hard to believe at times.  
Now that she thought about it, it felt really nice to think that a man as feared as Sandor could and would warm up to her and her alone like this, lying here with her in such closeness. For the first time Sansa found herself comparing Sandor to her father, and she wondered if her lady mother had ever woken up to find her husband sleeping almost on top of her like this.  
Sandor’s snores told her that he was still fast asleep, which gave her the courage to bring her free hand towards him. Softly so as not to wake him, Sansa began to run her fingers through his dark hair which was covering his burns. Then, her hand slipped down to the back of his neck as she began to caress with her fingertips little circles on Sandor’s warm skin. When Sandor shifted a bit in his embrace, Sansa stopped and waited until he stopped moving. When he did, she felt that he had moved his head a bit upwards so that now the top of his head was brushing against her breasts.  
Sansa’s heart began to flutter at that, as her conscience fought against her heart. A warm feeling between her legs made it harder to breathe then, yet ever since that morning in Pentos when Sansa had woken up to see Sandor’s bare muscled chest, this feeling was starting to become familiar. You shouldn’t be allowing this, Sansa. He is not your husband. But if he isn’t, then why does this feel so right? Why do I want him to stay there? Why is this feeling of belonging here right now with him claiming overriding my senses?  
Such musings led her to the conclusion that the time had come to settle the matter that had begun that night they had spent in the inn near Norvos, when they had almost kissed. I’m going to ask him to kiss me tonight as a gift, she decided, trying not to allow her thoughts to wander to what that could mean or evoke as consequences. I want my first kiss, and I want it with him…  
When Sandor finally turned around to his side, freeing her as he went on sleeping, Sansa got up and tiptoed to the living room. She dressed in the most beautiful gown she had as quickly as possible, fearing Sandor would wake up, and wished longingly for a handmaiden to help her with the laces of the dress. After cleaning her face, mouth and hands she brushed her long hair until it sprang into curls, and stepped outside the house, smiling as she saw Medra’s twins waiting near the door with empty buckets all around them. She had asked them if they could help her out with preparing a bath she wished to take early in the morning, and judging by the dark shadows under their eyes, she regretted not telling them the exact time, since it looked like they had been out here for a while.  
“Thank you for helping me with this,” she told them with all honesty as they began to walk over to the water pump, a bucket in each hand.  
She returned to the house and closed the door before walking over to the bedroom to find that Sandor was still sleeping. What a contrast to our first morning here! she thought, amused. Sandor still did wake up every time the bells of Norvos rang, yet now he was able to fall back to sleep after the one that announced dawn sounded.  
Sansa stretched across the length of the bed and rested on her elbow as she began to tickle Sandor’s ear to wake him up. The good side of his face was to her, so she took this time to once again gaze intently at his features. For a moment she wondered what it would be like if she could stay with Sandor as he enjoyed his first surprise, running her hands across his bare back, hearing the tinkling of the water dripping down to the floor… For a wild moment, she considered nibbling his ear lobe, but didn’t. If I do that I’ll scare the living daylights out of him. So instead Sansa settled with breathing in the musky wild and earthy smell of Sandor as her eyes lingered a bit too long on his lips, imagining what it would be like to kiss them. I’ll know soon enough.  
Sandor began to make some sounds that reminded her of a bear as he waved her hand away from his ear with his.  
“Sandor,” she purred into his good ear.  
“Hmm?” he said, barely waking up.  
“Sandor, wake up. The day of our namedays has arrived!” she whispered, as she kept on tickling his ear.  
Sandor’s eyes finally sprang open at that, and when he seemed to understand what she had said, he swore quietly and stretched a bit in bed.  
“Bloody hells, little bird! Stop that tickling!” he growled. “If this is supposedly our namedays, why are you making me wake up so early?”  
Sansa laughed and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. “Honestly, Sandor, what a fine way to wish me a happy nameday!”  
At her kiss he turned around his neck to get a good look at her face, noticing along the way that she was dressed up and ready.  
“Happy nameday, Sansa.”  
“Happy nameday, Sandor!” she replied, cheerfully. “Now, you really must wake up because the first of my gifts for you today is nearly ready.”  
Sandor rubbed the sleep from his eyes and said, “And what’s that?”  
“I’ve prepared all the arrangements so that you can relax and take a bath here in the tub!”  
“What?” he barked, looking at her as if she were speaking in another tongue.  
“Well, I realized that you haven’t had a proper bath ever since we left King’s Landing, washing all this time in rivers, streams, or water pumps beside some well. Aside from that one time in the Bathhouse at Pentos, you haven’t taken a good long warm bath in a tub, so I prepared one for you! While you bathe, I’m going to go to Vintos and Frema’s.”  
Sandor’s eyes had widened more and more as she went on to explain her first gift, and when she finished, he just sat there in bed, looking at her. Finally, he said, “You’ve really put a lot of thought into this… thing we’re having today, haven’t you?”  
“Yes, I have,” she said, unconcerned with how strange he thought her at present. She threw her arms around him and gave him a hug, whispering, “I hope you enjoy your nameday, Sandor.”  
Before he could do anything she was off the bed in a graceful move and already at the doorframe of the bedroom. Sansa turned to look at Sandor’s startled face once again and said, “Medra’s twins are going to bring the hot water in a moment. Please, don’t scare them. Take all the time you need with the bath, and when you are done we’ll exchange our presents!”

\--

Sandor was sitting in the copper tub, enjoying the warm bath Sansa had prepared for him more than he would have believed possible. The morning was a bit chilly, so it felt good to be inside this early in the morning, relaxing and taking his time with his bloody bath. He hadn’t given a thought about how long it had been since he had done this, so the realization that the little bird had, insignificant as it was, meant a lot to him. No one had ever done the things Sansa did for him.  
I needed this, he reflected as he scrubbed his back. And the little bird knew it. Sandor tried very hard not to regret or imagine what it would feel like to have Sansa taking this bath with him, but it was not good. When his cock began to harden thanks to those visions inside his head, Sandor reluctantly reminded himself for the hundredth time to not go down that road. But it was hard when he recalled how he had woken up this morning. He hadn’t been hugging the little bird tightly as he often did, yet the close intimacy they lived had still been there as he woke up not by the sound of one of Norvos’ fucking bells, but by the soft tickling of Sansa’s hand on his ear. Sandor had been loath to wake up, warm and snug as he was under the covers, yet he had enjoyed having Sansa’s voice whispering softly in his ear that it was time to start the day, more than he would have thought possible. And then, when he’d turned around to face her as she explained to him her first gift, the urge to kiss her and hug her close to him had been so great that all he had managed to do instead was look at her strangely. If only I could wake up to the sight of Sansa’s face and the merry sound of her voice all the days of my life, he wished, sighing. Yet of course, pleasures such as there were something destined for the man she would one day marry, so unless he wanted to torment himself, he ought not to think of the tomorrows that would never come.  
Instead he tried to calm his bleeding nerves as he tried to imagine Sansa’s reactions to the gift he’d had made for her, and the outdoor trip Frema had helped him plan. Sure, Vintos and his connections had been of a great help, and Frema had practically come up with the whole idea in the first place, yet it had still felt awkward and uncomfortable to ask them to help him out with this. I can go into battle without so much as a flicker of fear, yet when it came to ask his neighbors for suggestions, he had felt uncomfortable. Who would have ever thought I would be planning such a thing like today for a girl?  
Yet Sansa was not just some girl to him, of course. He loved her, body and soul, for whatever that was worth. He loved her in a way that he had never thought he would ever experience, or even be capable of feeling. Sandor had come to admit this to himself some time ago, and seeing how happy she was with the prospect of celebrating their buggering namedays together had resigned him to go through with the plans Frema had come up with for them for today. Sandor did think Sansa would enjoy it all, yet his nerves and apprehensions were not an easy thing to shake off.  
After he had dressed, he went outside and crossed the cobblestone courtyard to Vintos and Frema’s. If they had ever wondered if Sandor and Sansa- or Edric and Alysanne, as they believed them to be called- really did have their namedays on the same day, they at least had never remarked on it. Nor had Vintos said anything about the treatment he’d received when Sandor pushed him against the wall at the blacksmith’s when he told him of Sansa’s injury. Yet Sandor hadn’t needed Sansa to tell him that he should apologize to him. Sansa said Vintos probably hadn’t told Frema about Sandor’s behavior, for which Sandor was grateful since he needed Frema to be around to keep Sansa company when he wasn’t there. Yesterday afternoon he had gone to Vintos as he was leaving for work and told him, with a little grudging tone to his voice he couldn’t make go away, that he was sorry for treating him the way he did when Vintos had only helped them out. Vintos was a decent enough man, Sandor had to admit, even more grudgingly, and patted the man hard in the back before he walked away.  
Sansa greeted him at the door, and took his hand to lead him to the common room where they could enjoy their breakfast. The little bird kept throwing quick glances at him and talked about everything and nothing, as she tried to eat her food as quickly as possible, anxious for the gift exchange. Frema and Vintos were taking their presents from their house to Sandor and Sansa’s while they were in the common room, Sansa said as she ate her duck eggs and bacon. When they were done, Medra told Sansa that the basket with the cooking she’d done the day earlier was ready, and Sansa thanked her kindly and said they would be back for it in a short while.  
When he and Sansa returned to their house they saw that their presents were piled up on the dining room’s table. The little bird looked up at him with the biggest smile he’d ever seen in her face and took his hand again to lead him to the table.  
“Can I start?” she chirped.  
“Sure,” he nodded, wondering what Sansa had come up with now. So far, the fact that she had cooked the meal they would be enjoying later today and the bath seemed like gifts enough to him.  
The little bird grabbed a big parcel with a blue bow and hugged it tightly before presenting it to him. When Sansa presented it to him, Sandor began ripping apart the paper. Sansa gave a squeak at that but he didn’t hear it, since by then he had already seen his gift. An astonishingly good quality scabbard was in his hands, and Sandor could not help but laugh to see what Sansa had come up with! He had been thinking of getting one himself soon, so it was indeed a very pleasant surprise to see that the little bird had thought of it first. There were no designs in it, as he would have chosen, yet the polished dark wood looked beautiful. For a moment he wondered which jewels Sansa had sold to get him this, but chose not to comment on it since he knew she would not like it. Sandor didn’t even remember the last time he’d bought a scabbard, yet he was glad to see that this one looked like it would serve just as well as his old one.  
Sandor looked over at the little bird, who was watching his reactions with a nervous look on her pretty face, as she bit her full red lips and played with a lock of her hair unconsciously, which just made it all the more alluring to him.  
“Sansa, this is…” he began, trying to find the words to let her know that he appreciated her gift very much. “This is… fine work, little bird. Very beautiful.”  
She nodded her head before taking another package from the table, which had a green bow. “It goes along with this,” she said, offering him his second gift.  
Sandor looked at her incredulously, wondering again how much all of these must have cost her, but took the parcel from her hands once more. When he saw the new sword belt, she Sandor was overwhelmed. He left his new things on the table delicately before he cupped Sansa’s face and said, “Those gifts mean a great deal, little bird, yet I don’t deserve so much. I-”  
Sansa quieted him by putting a hand on his chest, over his heart. She looked at the place where her pale hand now rested and said, “I know you better than anyone else, Sandor Clegane, and not only do you deserve these things, you deserve a lot more.”  
He snorted at that, but brushed his callused thumb along her soft cheekbone, staring deep into her eyes, thanking her.  
“It’s time for your gift, little bird.”  
Sansa laughed and began to look excited at his words, so he took her hand from his heart and placed it on the big box that was on the table. Sansa brought her other hand to it and began to caress the box’s surface in a strange way, as if wanting this moment to never pass by. When she finally began to unwrap her gift as delicately and slowly as possible, Sandor stifled the instinct of rolling his eyes at her fondness for unwrapping presents as if they were delicate living things one must handle with great care. The time it took her to finally open her present seemed an eternity to Sandor’s strained and excited nerves.  
“Gods be good,” Sansa whispered, looking over at Sandor, her mouth open in a big O. “Sandor…”  
Sandor grinned down at her, even though he knew his face would only look more hideous, he couldn’t help but smile widely at her reaction, his eyes boring into hers. Sansa stifled a little sound and turned her eyes back to her gift. Her hands now caressed the white fur, and when she brought it out of the box, Sandor was pleased at how nice the fur-trimmed jacket looked. He had seen the little bird many times admiring the gowns, coats and jackets the women from the High City wore whenever they visited the Low City. It had been the same in Pentos and even King’s Landing, when the Lannister bastards had not even seen fit to present Sansa with new clothes, even though it was evident to everyone how quickly she was growing, due to her height and how her breasts began to strain against her tight gown. It had been a surprisingly entertaining experience shopping for Sansa’s clothes with her in Pentos, and in those days he had tried to learn the sort of things the little bird liked best, so when Frema offered him her help, they went to ask Vintos (who conveniently worked at a weaver’s shop) if he could manage to have someone make him a white fur trimmed coat that resembled the jackets the rich ladies of Norvos wore, he knew –or at least dared hope Frema knew –what would please his little bird.  
Sansa hugged the winter-coat to her, and Sandor, without really knowing why, said, “Let’s see if it fits you.”  
And before Sansa could blink at him, he stood behind her and covered her with the coat around her shoulders. Then, as he leaned forward to fasten the clasp, he tenderly kissed her warm cheek. He had never kissed her out of instinct before. It was the first time that he did this. When kisses on the cheek happened between them, Sansa was always the one to give them, yet now he felt comfortable enough in his knowledge that she would not shy away from him to do it.  
In fact, Sansa did the contrary of shying away. Her head moved closer to his, but he stepped away, instead caressing the little scar on her forehead. My brave little bird.  
“Sandor, I love it. Thank you, it is… so beautiful,” he heard her say.  
“It’s to replace the one that was ruined in the Kingswood, remember?” he said, as he looked at her.  
Sansa laughed and brought her hand to cup his scratchy beard. “I do, and I promise to take better care of this one.”  
“Fair enough, for I’ll do the same with the new scabbard and sword belt… Come, little bird, I think it’s best if we start our trip as soon as possible.”  
That had her growing excited again and she clapped her hands in eagerness. “I couldn’t agree more! Just let me put away the coat.”  
Sandor unbuckled his sword belt and took his sword from his old scabbard, exchanging them for his new things, and was pleased to see Sansa approved of the sight after she returned from hanging her coat in the little wardrobe they shared.  
Sandor opened the door to their house for her, as Medra’s daughter came towards them, the basket that contained their food under her arm. He gulped as he imagined what Sansa would think of what Frema had convinced him to arrange and could only hope she would like it as much as she did the fur-trimmed coat.

\--

Sansa walked beside Sandor through the cobbled streets of the Low City. She was very excited because from now on she had no idea what would happen next. It had fallen on Sandor to come up with this outing, and he meant to keep it a surprise from her for as long as possible. So instead of trying to figure out where they were heading, Sansa looked back on the gift exchange that had just occurred moments before. She was thoroughly relieved to see that Sandor had liked her gifts and had not been able to express how much his had meant to her.  
She had owned expensive garments almost all her life –the finest silks and velvets in the world, made with laces from Myr and Lys, and woven in Oldtown, so it had been easy for her to see that Sandor’s gift must have cost him even more than what both his presents had cost her. She had considered for a fleeting moment to tell him that this was too much, yet knowing he would get cross at that, Sansa kept her thoughts on her gift’s price silent, instead marveling at how beautiful the fur-trimmed coat was. Sandor had known, just as she had with him, what would please her. I’ll keep my word. I’ll treasure the coat forever.  
The fur-trimmed coat made her recall her last nameday in Winterfell as well, and of how happy she’d been when her mother gave her a beautiful blue dress as a present. I wore that gown the day King Robert’s party arrived in Winterfell. The day I first saw Sandor. But that was the time when she had only had eyes for Joffrey. My beautiful fickle golden prince. Sansa would have found it strange that she could no longer recall exactly how Joffrey looked like, had she not also had trouble these days to at times remember her family’s faces. If I didn’t look so much like mother I may also not remember her, she realized, worried.  
Shaking her head to forget such painful and delicate memories, Sansa began to notice her surroundings once again, and frowned as she remarked to Sandor, “We’ve come this way before once. Remember? On the day that we saw the elephant.”  
“I do,” he said, and refused to say another word.  
“Are we going to the river?” she asked him to no avail. Sansa tried to come up with as many possibilities as she could. Yet she didn’t have to wonder much, for soon enough Sandor stopped in the middle of a stone bridge they’d been crossing, and said, “I’m going to blindfold you now, little bird.”  
Sansa quickly looked up at him with disbelief as Sandor grinned wickedly at her, taking out a dark blue scarf from one of his pockets.  
“Why?” she asked, incredulous.  
“Because I don’t want you to know where we are heading to for as long as I can keep it from you.”  
“Oh,” was all she had time to say before Sandor turned her around so her back faced him. Her tummy tightened into a knot just as all the nerves in her body began to tickle her. Sansa could feel her heartbeat racing as Sandor tied the scarf around her head in a firm fold. She placed her hands on top of his to feel the textile on her face, but Sandor took her hands away and whispered in her ear, “We are not far now. Just trust me and you won’t fall.”  
She nodded, too overcome for words. She felt Sandor’s hand closing around her arm, and she leaned closer to him, dependent on all his decisions now, yet Sansa knew she was safe. They walked through more streets, turning left at times and then to the right, until Sansa finally heard the sound of the Noyne about her.  
“That’s the river! I knew we were heading there,” she exclaimed, happily. Will he take me to see the elephant up close?  
Sandor laughed beside her. “Clever little bird… Come now, step carefully here.”  
Sansa felt the soft ground beneath her, so fearing she would slip, she took a stronger hold of Sandor’s arm. I hope I don’t fall and ruin my dress, she thought.  
“We are ready,” Sandor said suddenly.  
“Me as well,” responded a stranger’s voice in the Norvoshi Valyrian she didn’t master all that well. “Do you need a hand?”  
“With the basket,” Sandor answered as he suddenly swept her off the ground and carried her in his arms.  
Sansa gasped and clung to him as she heard the sound of Sandor’s heavy boots hitting a wooden floor. Together they swayed for a moment on the spot, making Sansa realize that they were on a boat. She remarked that to Sandor and asked him yet again where they were going.  
“It’s not far now. Wait a moment and sit here.”  
Sansa lifted her head up in the directions she thought Sandor was standing. “We are in a boat, right? How did you ever find it?” she asked him incredulously. “Because if we are going to eat here I should probably take off the scarf.”  
“Vintos introduced me to the man who owns this, and the man suggested the place where we are heading to as somewhere you might like. And don’t take off that scarf. I’ll do it when it’s the right time.”  
“But I’m going to miss the surroundings!” she pointed out, pouting.  
Sandor rasped a laugh. If she didn’t know Sandor so well, it would have scared her to be near a man who had such a voice and whom she could not see.  
“You’ll see it all on the journey back.”  
They were silent after that for some time, so Sansa lost herself in the sounds of the river below her, and of the ones all around her from nature. The gentle motions of the barge made her feel sleepy, but she shook the feeling away and heard her belly rumbling. I really hope I cooked something decent enough to eat, she thought nervously.  
Just then a light and distant thunder sounded far away, and Sandor and the man Sansa pictured as standing in front of them with a long pole swore out loud.  
“We’ve arrived but you won’t be able to stay for a long time,” the man told them.  
“I figured that out,” Sandor replied. “Well, I think we can take off the scarf, little bird.”  
Sansa felt Sandor shift around on his seat and a moment later she was no longer blind. She blinked a couple of times and gasped at the beautiful place Sandor had brought her to, staring in awe at all the natural splendor around her. Small green hills surrounded the Noyne, making this particular place appear to be the bottom of a valley. In the distance, she could see the beautiful mountain of the Daughter Noyne, at its peak one could barely distinguish the Bearded Priests temple, its golden dome shining bright even at this distance. A golden clearing covered with tall grass that reminded Sansa of the wheat fields she’d visited once with her family, and this was where Sandor conducted her to after he had helped her from the boat and told the man to wait for them. The man took out a fishing rod and paid them no more mind.  
Sansa gazed all around her, falling in love with the beautiful landscape, the pine woods, and mountains beyond. As they walked through the woods toward the clearing, she was delighted to hear the sweet sound of the birds singing to each other in the trees, and laughed when a dragonfly flew around Sandor’s head, to his great annoyance. This is an enchantment.  
“Sandor, look!” she exclaimed as she caught sight of a fawn standing in fright at the sound of their approach, squeezing Sandor’s arm since she had not let go of it all this time.  
“Would you like it for dinner, little bird?” he asked her, sneering.  
“Of course not!” she said, appalled.  
Sandor laughed and said, “Here will do.”  
He dropped the basket and settled down on the grass, crossed-legged and Sansa happily began to take out the food she’d prepared the day before and the dishes.  
“Medra recommended this to me,” Sansa explained as she knelt as gracefully as she could on the ground as well. “It’s capon covered with a relish of carrots and bits of lime and orange.”  
Sandor looked at her in surprise and approval. “And you did it all by yourself, did you?”  
Sansa threw him a sideway glance. “Yes, I did. Medra and Frema helped me out only with cutting the carrots and such.”  
“Well, I’ll serve the wine then,” he said, producing the skin of red wine from the basket and serving her a wooden cup first before he drank from his.  
As she cut the capon onto two different wooden plates, Sansa’s mind wandered back to a day long ago when she was little and had helped her mother with the cooking. Lady Catelyn had been expecting Bran, and Sansa had been but a little girl and Arya a fierce babe.  
It was a nice memory. Sansa remembered she had been with Septa Mordane when her mother had appeared at the door of her nursery and told her that they were going to have some fun and cook for her father who was returning home after visiting the mountain clans. As they cooked, strong little Arya had thrown a bowl of flour at Mother and in the end they had had a wonderful fight with it. Robb and Theon along with all the kitchen boys and girls had ended up joining them in the fun. Jon walked away after Mother said something to him, Sansa remembered sadly.  
Father had returned to find his wife, daughters and sons, and household covered from head to foot in white, and laughed wholeheartedly all evening as he ate the roast they’d prepared for him. But other than that day, Sansa hadn’t cooked a thing since. And I don’t think that one really counts…  
“It’s ready. You try it first,” she said nervously, handing the plate to Sandor.  
When Sandor ate the first bite Sansa was sure she could not bear her nerves any longer so before he had even swallowed, she asked him what he thought of it.  
“It’s bloody good, little bird,” Sandor said, arching his eyebrows in appreciation.  
“Really?” Sansa asked incredulous, and when Sandor nodded she brought the fork with the capon to her mouth and ate it. The first thing she tasted was the sour fruit, followed by the crunchy carrots, tender raisins and cold delicious bird.  
“Gods be good!” she remarked, happily. “Sandor, I can cook!”  
Sandor laughed at her at that, his mouth twitching, and even leaned forward to brush a lock of hair away from her face.  
Hours later after they had explored their surroundings, Sansa was resting on the big blanket they’d brought along, looking up at the sky and the tops of the small hills from the middle of the yellow clearing. Sandor was sitting cross-legged beside her, as he admired his new scabbard and sword belt.  
They were both apparently comfortable with the present silence, so Sansa began to marvel at just how small people were in this big wide world, since she mused that not in a hundred years would she have believed she would be celebrating her nameday beside the river Noyne deep in the Hills of Norvos, with the reassuring sound of Sandor’s sword being honed beside her.  
“Sandor…” she said eventually.  
“Yes?”  
“Do you know what this place reminds me of?”  
“How would I know? The Kingswood?”  
She shook her head. “No… It reminds me of the banner of House Clegane you once told me… how the three hounds from your sigil died in the yellow of autumn grass.”  
Sandor looked up from his work at her.  
“Thank you for this,” she told him, looking over at him intently. “I am enjoying my nameday very much.”  
Sandor sat there in front of her, his swords in his hands and for a long moment he didn’t say anything.  
“Me too, little bird,” he finally said, at long last.  
That made her smile. She lay there on the grass looking up at Sandor, and noticed how his eyes traveled from her legs up to her face. For some reason, Sansa began to consider the possibility of asking him to kiss her now instead of later when they returned home. So she shifted around and straightened up, stretching in what she supposed was a seductive pose. She knelt on the blanket and was about to open her mouth, when there was another crash of thunder, and in the blink of an eye a light rain began to fall.  
“Shit!” Sandor cursed in his raspy voice, as he stood up and looked around for shelter under the nearest tree, sliding his sword into its new scabbard. Sansa laughed as a sudden thought seized her. She hadn’t done this in a long time, and even back then it had been snowflakes and not rain, but she nonetheless stood up and said, “It’s just a little bit of rain, Sandor. Come, let’s have some fun.”  
“What?” he asked her, raising his eyebrow.  
Sansa stood up and began to twirl around, not caring that she must probably look a bit silly, dancing and laughing under the rain. As she danced, the rain came down even harder, soaking her hair and her dress. Grinning, she caught Sandor’s eye. He was staring at her.  
She began to sing the haunting song of Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies.  
“You’ll catch a bloody cold,” Sandor said gruffly after some moments, collecting their things into the basket. “And the man is going to row away without us. You heard what he said. Besides, it’s getting darker. I can swear I hear the fucking bell that announces dusk, and by the time we reach The Three Bells night will have fallen.”  
Sansa reluctantly stopped at that, and laughed merrily as she caught sight of Sandor, waiting there, all drenched, looking at her with an ardor that made her feel giddy as his eyes ran over her with a hungry look. Oh gods, she thought, following his gaze. She realized that her dress was now sticking to her skin, outlining the curves of her body prominently, and her hair plastered to her face. She began to shiver, though whether if it was out of the cold or due to the way Sandor was looking at her, Sansa could not be sure. He was staring her down with something akin to ardor and desire in his tormented grey eyes, and the shocking sight of her nipples standing out made her unable to do anything but stand there in wonder and nervous excitement. He is staring straight at my breasts. Sandor’s mouth began to twitch slightly as the thought of hugging herself so she could keep her decency crossed her mind, since that was what a lady would do in such a situation. But for once Sansa Stark did not care about being a lady. So she had stood with her arms to her side, letting Sandor drink in the sight of her. It might make him more willing to grant me my request later tonight, she thought, as she stared at his lips, aching to kiss them, burned skin and all.  
“Let’s go,” Sandor rasped all of a sudden, gulping, breaking the moment. He walked very stiffly back to the edge of the river, Sansa close behind him, blushing fiercely.  
When the man who had rowed them saw them, he began to shout at them to hurry. Sandor handed him the basket and helped Sansa on to the boat, then followed her on board. They sat side by side as the man grabbed his pole again; Sansa cast one last look at the lovely place of their outing, now covered in a mist of low-hanging mountain clouds.  
Perhaps it was because they were a little embarrassed by what had just happened, as neither of them said much for some time. The journey back to the Low City seemed to take longer than before, but Sansa was glad of it. The light rain ceased soon after they left the clearing, and after some time Sansa noticed that she and Sandor had nestled her closer to each other, craving each other’s warmth. Sandor felt her trembling beside her, her teeth chattering, so he took out the blanket they’d used earlier for a mantelpiece and covered her shoulders with it, as he also brought his arm around her shoulders.  
Sansa laid her head against his shoulder and ignored the unbelieving look the man in front of them gave them. She sighed against the rough fabric of Sandor’s tunic and said, “Now our best clothes are ruined.”  
Sandor chuckled sourly as he looked about him. The sky was grey to be sure, but the hills were still green and the river was calm. Sansa brushed her hand along the surface of the water all the way back to the city. Resting her head on Sandor’s shoulder, she took in the beautiful sight of this part of the world they had visited, treasuring in her heart all the moments of this day so that in the future, when she was feeling lost, she could remember this day and how much she had shared with Sandor.  
When Sansa and Sandor had nearly reached The Three Bells, Sansa was feeling fidgety and nervous as the thought of how she would ask Sandor to kiss her went round and round her head. If I do not do it now I might never find the courage. Sandor seemed oblivious to her dilemma, for he laughed wholeheartedly as he told her how unsure he’d been to follow Frema’s counsel on what she would like to do in their nameday. Sansa smiled and looked up at Sandor as they turned the corner to the street of the inn.  
“What is it?” Sandor asked her, as he finally noticed that something was wrong with her.  
Sansa looked quickly at her feet and stopped right there in the middle of the street, under a lantern. She took a deep breath to steady herself. What are you waiting for, Sansa Stark? Do it now. The time has come. “Sandor… would you do something for me if I asked you to?”  
Sandor took a hold of her chin and brought her face up to meet his. “You know I would do anything you ask and more, little bird- so long as you ask me while you look at me, not the floor. What do you want?”  
Sansa gulped, her heart beating fast, as she fleetingly wondered how it didn’t burst when she was feeling so many things. She placed her hand on his arm, stepping closer to him, and whispered, “Will you- ?”  
“Alysanne!” someone called, and Sandor and Sansa turned around towards the inn in surprise. Sansa gasped as she saw that Arman Nervere, the handsome magister of Norvos was waving to her and walking towards them, a smile on his face.  
Sandor looked at the magister as if he could not believe this man had just intruded on them, as Sansa stepped away from Sandor and forced a smile to come to her face. Normally, she would have been embarrassed at her disheveled state, but all she could think was… I was so close!  
“Arman! How nice to see you again, but goodness, what are you doing here at this late hour?” she replied in the Common Tongue.  
Magister Nervere had now reached them, but stopped suddenly when he looked at Sandor’s face. Sansa saw something flickering in his eyes before he took her hand and kissed it.  
“I was waiting for you, in truth,” he confessed, as Sandor rasped in the Common Tongue, following her lead, “And who the bloody hell are you?”  
Before the magister could reply, Sansa interrupted him and answered, “Edric, may I have the honor to present you Arman Nervere, one of the High Magisters of Great Norvos, and the man who helped me the day before yesterday…”  
Sandor looked at Sansa and then at Magister Nervere, remembering what she had told him of this nobleman. Sansa went on, “And Arman, this is my most loyal friend and faithful companion, Edric.”  
“I am honored to have the privilege to meet a valiant steel knight of the Sunset Kingdoms,” Magister Nervere put in.  
Gods be good, Sansa thought as she heard those words. He could not have said something worse! Sansa didn’t have to look at Sandor to know how angry he was. Somehow she could sense it.  
Sandor’s voice was rough and hard as an iron grasp as he growled, “Did you hear the girl call me a knight? I advise you not to call me a “ser” if you don’t want trouble.”  
“I can see that Lady Alysanne has a very fierce protector and friend in you, Edric, as plainly as I can see the kiss of the Lord of Light in your face…” the magister responded, in a tone that didn’t seem at all as if Sandor had intimidated him at all.  
Sandor’s hand went to the pommel of his sword and he, in a rasping, raucous laughter which sounded in part a rumble and in part a snarl, remarked, “Saw the burns, did you?”  
Magister Nervere looked knowingly at Sandor and with a sly smile, turned back to Sansa. “My lady, I’m pleased to see that your cut is healing nicely.”  
“Thank you, Arman,” Sansa replied, shuddering not due to her still wet clothes, but at the mention of the Lord of Light and at how he had said that about Sandor’s being kissed by the flames.  
The magister seemed to get a closer look at her and Sandor and said, “Goodness, you two look as if you had fallen right into the Noyne!”  
Sansa truly smiled at last as she remembered today and thinking how odd she and Sandor must look, drenched from head to foot, and her, wrapped up in an old wet blanket.  
“Something of the sort,” she replied… “Excuse me Arman, but you said you were waiting for me. What is it?”  
The magister flicked his fingers and a servant that had been standing near his litter came running to his side, a sealed envelope in his hand.  
“I’ve come to invite you to dine with me tomorrow at my house, if you would be so kind as to accept. Edric, of course the invitation is not limited to Lady Alysanne alone. You are cordially invited as well.”  
“Oh,” Sansa said, surprised. I must accept, she realized. He is one of the richest and most powerful men in this city. Yet she looked over at Sandor, who was staring at her and Magister Nervere both with an angry expression; the very same one that had scared her countless of times in King’s Landing. She was afraid again, not of Sandor, but for him. It could be dangerous to enter the High City and risk being seen by someone with connections to Dorne.  
“Arman, I- I am honored, truly, but I do not think-”  
“Please, it will only be for a few hours,” the magister pointed out, his blue eyes sparkling brightly.  
“We’ll go,” Sandor said, suddenly.  
Sansa glanced at him quickly, but Sandor was still glaring at Magister Nervere with a thunderous look in his grey eyes, so she looked down at her feet, not pleased.  
“Excellent!” the magister exclaimed, handing Sandor the envelope with his invitation. “I shall have my palanquin sent for you tomorrow at midday.”  
Sansa saw that Magister Nervere was smiling at her genuinely, looking very handsome, so she tried to return the gesture by doing the same, but her smile was only half-felt. Her heart, which had been happy and excitedly nervous moments ago, was now sad because she had a bad feeling about the way Sandor would react to this, and thus because tonight would not be the night Sandor kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, thank you so much for the encouraging reviews from you all :D I could not have hoped for a kinder audience and I can only keep my fingers crossed that you enjoyed this chapter :)


	16. The High City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don't gain anything by doing this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)  
> \- To the best betas out there who always help me out with feedback, corrections and ideas: swiftsnowmane, onborrowedwings & gingerbeer48 thanks for sticking with me and this fic! Love you all girls!!  
> \- Also, I would like to give a big thank you to a new beta called nysandra!! Welcome and thank you for your wonderful help!!  
> *The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story contains dialogue from both the books and the show at times.
> 
> **I noticed that in the last chapter I kept changing the gift Sandor gave Sansa from   
> coat to cloak… Sorry about that! It’s a coat :D

  Sandor and Sansa didn’t speak much when they had returned to their house after that fucking prick Arman Nervere took his leave of them. Upon entering the house and silently lighting up candles all around, Sandor saw that the little bird was still wet from earlier in the afternoon, hugging herself and looking at her feet as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. _She can’t catch a cold,_ he sighed _._

  “I’m going to take another bloody bath outside. You’d better take off those wet things and have yourself a bath as well,” he informed her as he took a set of dry clothes from the wardrobe.

  Sansa had finally looked up at him then, and even gave him a tiny nod. So Sandor left her and headed to the kitchen of _The Three Bells Inn_ through the back entrance to find Medra in the room, finishing cleaning up for the night. He asked the fat innkeeper if he could warm up some of the water from the water pump for his bath in the great oven in the kitchen that was at present unlit, so he didn’t catch a chill as well.

  “Of course, just make sure you put the fire out when you’re done and take the buckets back to the well,” she told him. “Alys is faring the same as you, isn’t she?”

  Sandor nodded, grabbing for a skin of wine that lay on the table.

  “Well then, I’d better take her a cup of _knili_ tea to warm her up a bit as the lads prepare the bath.”

  “Have the fireplace at the house lit up as well,” he told the woman.

  After Medra went away, Sandor heated the water and washed himself quickly, musing on how different was this bath from the one he’d pleasantly enjoyed in the morning, and on how different was the way he he’d been feeling _then_ from the way he was feeling _now_.

  _It isn’t as if it were Sansa’s fault_ , Sandor thought sullenly, as he washed his forearm with a wet warm rag. The fact that it would actually _hurt_ him to go through with this thing he’d come up with startled him, but there was nothing he could do about it now. _She looked clearly uncomfortable at least, and did not seem to want to accept that fucking blue-eyed magister’s invitation, but I have to_ know.

  As the little bird exchanged words with that bloody nobleman, Sandor’s first thoughts had been of suspicion that his was some spy from the Lannisters or maybe even the Dornishmen here in Norvos, but those misgivings had been quenched soon enough. The way that sodding Arman was looking at Sansa made it clear that he had come to invite her gladly out of his own free will to his house, not because someone had instructed him to. _Aye, and how could he do otherwise with the little bird?_ Norvoshi or not, he was a fucking man and Sandor knew well enough what the magister was thinking as he gazed at Sansa.

  And so an idea –or a test– of sorts had been forming in his mind. Sandor knew full well it was cruel to act like this and that he may be wrong in doing so, but by accepting Nervere’s invitation, he and Sansa would be forced to see the lives they would lead once they returned to Westeros, where he was bound to be nothing more than Sansa’s sworn shield if he was lucky enough. _There’s no way in seven hells those bloody Starks will allow a former Lannister dog to take the liberties you’ve been enjoying these past few months with the little bird ever again_. No, instead the King in the North would parade his sister like a piece of meat amongst his most trustworthy friends and staunch supporters, to see who would give the highest price for the privilege of marrying the Princess of Winterfell. _One of those buggers might not be so bad, but still_ … Sandor dreaded that day. _At least_ this _sodding Norvoshi isn’t that much of a threat_ , Sandor remembered as he dried himself and donned his dry clothes. Arman Nervere was no one in Westeros, and handsome as he was, Sandor knew better than anyone that Sansa was no longer blinded by the way a man looked, and thus, she was trying to keep her distance from this bloody stranger. _Which, for tomorrow at least_ , _I can’t allow._

  Cursing the whole world to one of the seven hells, he stepped out of _The Three Bells_ and headed to the stables. He hated Arman within a few moments of meeting him, even if he _had_ helped Sansa out of that crowded mob the day before yesterday. _And if I hate this nobleman so much after a brief interaction, how will it be when Sansa marries such a man?_ If that man was a good person, then Sandor would be relieved for Sansa, yet it would hurt him to see her falling in love with another. Maybe the reason why he was willing to risk this test with bloody Arman tomorrow was because despite his looks Sansa didn’t seem to be about to fall in love with the man.

  He spit at the entrance of the stables and glanced at Nan resentfully as he passed by her on his way to his horse.

  Sandor scratched Stranger’s muzzle the way he knew the horse liked and sighed deeply.

  “You’re the lucky one,” he told the dark warhorse, as his eyes fell on Sansa’s mare again. “Nothing to worry about and no one to interfere between you and your little Nan.” 

  Stranger neighed in response and Sandor chuckled sourly. _Why did this day have to end, ruined by a fucking, buggering bastard intruding upon us?_ he wondered, feeding Nan and Stranger. Sandor had been having the best –well, only– nameday he could ever remember having, and he had been very pleased with himself that Sansa had not only liked the fur coat, but enjoyed the outdoor trip he’d allowed Frema to talk him into. It had been a nice enough place, and the afternoon had flown away all too quickly as they ate every bit of the food Sansa had cooked, and explored their surroundings by that clearing beside the Noyne. Then the bloody rain had started pissing down on them, and Sansa, instead of running back to the boat or under a tree for cover like he’d wanted to do, had surprised him yet again by dancing in the rain. _It was all innocent enough at first for her, I guess… until it wasn’t_. Soon enough the rain had soaked the little bird to the bone, making her pretty dress cling to her skin, perfectly outlining all the curves of her body, highlighting Sansa’s breasts, that tiny waist of hers, the curve of her backside and even the faint outline of her long legs. And all of this had served to make his mouth start twitching slightly. If it hadn’t been that Sansa had already touched his mouth when this was happening, he might have even considered looking away.

  What had definitely aroused him beyond conscious thoughts had been the sight of her nipples sticking out from under her soaked clothing. That little sight alone had sent him over the edge, to the point where his cock had been pressing so tightly against the laces of his breeches that he had only been able to stand there staring directly at her tits, unable to move or say anything.

  And he had a hunch Sansa had known about it. _Yet if she did, why didn’t she cover herself at the first moment she realized I was looking at her? Why didn’t she say something? Turn around at least? Why did she just let me stare at her breasts like the hungry dog I must have looked?_ The only answer that came to him was the same one as on the morning of that pillow fight on their last morning in Pentos. Sansa was experiencing all of these sensations for the first time, and he was the lucky bastard to be enjoying them. The little bird was probably confused and thought that it wouldn’t matter if she thought of him in the way Sandor believed she might. Yet – _seven hells_ – Sandor loved her too much to take advantage of her naiveté like that. Sansa had brought so many good things into his life, and even given him hope. What was it that he was hoping for, Sandor didn’t even know at times, but it was a good change from the previous life he’d been living were he didn’t give a shit about anything but killing Gregor. _Better if she grows accustomed to the company of other fucking wretches if in the end that’s where she’ll end up: marrying a bloody stranger, with whom she would be discovering everything all over again, the way she has been doing for the last couple of weeks_. And when that happens, what kind of use would Sansa or her husband make of him? The man would certainly like nothing more than to kick Sandor out of her service if he ever learned that his pretty wife had shared her bed for months with her scarred guard. _Maybe he’ll even be stupid enough to hint that my proper place is in the kennels_ , Sandor thought, laughing sourly. That would never end well, since he knew Sansa would be appalled and Sandor would probably skewer the idiot in the belly just to show him where _his_ proper place was- in a grave under the earth. He was sure of it, yet the little bird would have to eventually agree with her husband on some points unless she wanted trouble.

  If Sansa wanted to be _his_ things would be different. Whether she where his wife or her lover, then Sandor knew none of this would be happening. Sandor suspected at times that Sansa was curious what would happen between them if he had allowed her to kiss him when he had beer foam on his beard, or when they had that pillow fight in Pentos, but she probably had no concept about what a life-long relationship with him would mean since she had never experienced this with anyone before. That she would be his and his alone was not something she may be willing to accept. _And that’s not even taking into account her family._

  Shaking his head to push that thought away for the moment, he guessed it was probably safe enough now to return to the house, but before that he ducked into the kitchen once again for another skin of wine. _If I stormed in on her while she was bathing, I’m likely to see how she would react then_ , he thought momentarily as he finally reached the door of his house. _But better not tempt her… or me_.  Yet, nonetheless, he opened the door without knocking for some reason, steeling himself for whatever it was that Sansa was about to tell him she wanted to talk about, and saw that she was not in the dining room. He locked the front door, stared at the fire on the hearth for a moment remembering, and strode towards the living room. 

  The bathwater was still in the tub, but Sansa wasn’t in it. He saw with both relief and a momentary regret that she had finished her bath long ago, for she was now wearing her nightgown. Her forgotten cup of tea rested on the floor beside the couch, forgotten, for the little bird had fallen asleep. _Probably waiting for me_. _How long was I outside?_

  She was curled up, even though the brazier made the small room warm enough. Her head rested on the arm of her seat, her long auburn hair hanging loose all about her. Her lips, Sandor saw, were a bit parted and her arm and leg were hanging over the edge of the couch. The sight of her bare leg uncovered like that made him remember once again what had happened this afternoon when the rain began. _Fuck me, doesn’t she have anything about her that is not bloody perfect?_ The hem of her gown covered her with its fabric to just below the knee, but the sight of her perfect delicate ankle and foot were all his to admire at present.

  _Bugger_ , was all he had time to think before he walked over to Sansa and squatted in front of her, admiring her up close as the half empty skin of wine slipped from his hand to the floor, likewise forgotten. The sound of her soft breathing lulled him closer to her until he caught her scent. _She smells nice_ , he thought as he leaned even closer. _I can count the freckles on her pretty nose now_. Her long curled lashes sent little shadows across her cheeks, Sandor noticed as he caressed her face. His fingers traced her high cheekbone and he placed a strand of hair behind her ear. After a moment, his hand darted towards her bare leg, and as he took a slight hold of the hem of her gown to pull it all the way down, he let his knuckles brush against the long length of warm skin that was her calf and shin. _How bloody ironic_ , Sandor thought then. _Against all odds, I’m here by her side and will remain so until the day I die, yet I cannot_ _fucking_ do _anything about what I feel for her._ _I can’t kiss her or take her in my arms, or slip a hand up her thighs._

  Sandor sighed. With great difficulty he took his hand away from her leg, and brought it instead to her outstretched hand. Sandor turned Sansa’s hand over and pressed a kiss to the soft skin of her wrist, and then in the middle of her palm, and on each tip of her elegant long fingers. _Still, I should not complain_. _This is better than if we had been together in King’s Landing, with her as Joff’s queen while I tried to help her get spared from punishments and pain_.

  Sandor straightened up and cursed himself for a bloody fool before scooping his little bird up as delicately as possible from her couch. Sansa didn’t even open her eyes, but she did sigh his name in her sleep and curled in closer to him. Sandor stood rooted to the spot for some time, staring at the girl in his arms as if he had never before held anything of such value. _I probably never_ _have_ , he thought, as Sansa parted her lips again, dreaming on. Yet he knew that was not entirely true. He _had_ held her like this before, and even remembered all too well the first time it had happened. It was after Joff had Ned Stark’s head cut off. The reports said Sansa was sick and was not eating a thing, behaving as if she just wanted to be forgotten in her chambers until she died. Joff had laughed as he said that he would teach her how things would be from now on, and ordered Sandor and some of the Kingsguard to follow him. When they had woken Sansa up and Joffrey had commanded her to get up to no avail, Sandor had been instructed to drag Sansa off the bed. _That little shit probably thought I would drag her harshly from the bed by the hair._ Instead, Sandor had scoped her up in his arms as gently as he could while Sansa struggled feebly, noticing how thin her nightgown was and how much it revealed.

  She had been struck for the first time in her life that morning long ago, after seeing what a monster she was betrothed to marry. Sandor had wanted nothing more than to strangle everyone but Sansa in that room with their own guts as she fell to the floor. Those memories drove his eyes to the cut on her forehead and made him recall how he had once again failed to save her two days ago. _No_ , _Nervere did that_. Sandor had stopped her from killing Joffrey once; had backed up her lie to save a drunkard; escorted her at night around Maegor’s so she would not encounter Boros or Meryn on her own; given her his white Kingsguard cloak to help her cover herself when Joff almost stripped her naked along with his advice; stopped her from rolling down the Serpentine Steps or falling from the rooftop of the tower were she was kept; saved her from an angry mob and finally taken her away from her cage, yet to Sandor it was never enough, for he had also done his best to scare her whenever he could. _I tried so hard to let her know that she was not living one of her songs, and that she should open her eyes and see the world, and my face, that it only made me angrier when she couldn’t_. Yet it was not the little bird’s fault. _I didn’t approach things the way I bloody ought to have done, like on the night of the battle against Stannis_. Yet those days were long gone now. He should try and keep on making her life and her future a better place than the one she had left, for that was what she was always doing to him. Sansa made him have a purpose.

  Frowning, he walked towards the bedroom slowly, trying hard not to wake the little bird up, until he finally reached the bed. With one knee resting for support on the bed, Sandor laid Sansa down softly on the bed. Sansa’s hands brushed against the burned side of his neck as he drew back. She shifted a bit in her sleep and threw her arms behind her head, with a little sigh that made him go mad.

 _She certainly is not the little girl I once knew anymore_. Sandor contemplated the young woman before him, and the way her body curved voluptuously whereas in other places she was smooth and flat, like on her waist.

  He sat on the edge of the bed on Sansa’s side, after he had covered her with the blankets. He lit a single tallow candle that stood on the wooden table beside him, thinking once again on what would happen tomorrow, before he buried his face in his hands.

  _I_ _won’t be going to the bloody High City as anything but Sansa’s sworn shield_ , he decided. If he stood in the back of the room and left Sansa to dine with Nervere, then he would get a bloody good look at what their future would be. In the gathering darkness, and as the light grew dimmer, Sandor began to wonder about Nervere– who he was and how he would really be like. _He certainly doesn’t look Norvoshi and that remark about the bloody Lord of Light kissing my face was certainly strange– and stupid– of him_ , he thought angrily. Then he felt Sansa’s hand on his back as she stirred behind him.

  “Sandor?” she said, in a sleepy voice.

  Sandor turned to look at her. She was propped up on her elbows and though her features at first seemed sleepy, he saw that she quickly seemed to remember what had happened as her eyes went wide with uncertainty. For the longest time they didn’t say anything, but when the little bird was convinced that Sandor wasn’t going to start raging at her for what had happened with Nervere, Sansa finally whispered before biting her lip, “Why did you accept?”

  Sandor’s mouth began to twitch. _What can I tell her?_ Sandor knew that Sansa wouldn’t take it kindly if he told her that he had accepted so they could test themselves and see how strong their relationship was. _If I tell her I simply remembered how eager and curious she’s been about visiting the High City and therefore accepted, she’ll tell me to my face that she was marveled at how I could only come up with that pathetic excuse_. No matter how much he hated liars, he could not bring himself to tell his little bird all the reasons behind his motives. _I do want to get a grip on how it will be like to go back with being simply her sworn shield_ , he thought. _That’s not exactly why I want us to go, but it will serve_ , _for I_ _cannot tell her that I must also know how I will feel when I see her with another man._

  So instead he shrugged and replied in his rasping voice, “Bugger me if I know, little bird… I just want us to see how it will be once we are back with your family– if they accept me into their service. And this is a bloody magister, Sansa. I’ve been around his like all my life and he wasn’t going to give up until you accepted his bloody invitation. I’m your sworn shield first and foremost, and it wouldn’t be right to let you go alone, would it?”

  Sansa quickly sat up in bed and placed her hand on his shoulder. “You are mistaken, Sandor. You are not my sworn shield alone. You may be the best protector in the world, since no one has hurt me ever since I am with you. But what you are first and foremost is my _friend_ , and if we are to attend tomorrow, I want you to go with me as that.”

  Sandor didn’t shrug away her hand, and after a moment Sansa began to slide it down the length of his arm until she reached her hand. She held it tightly and after a moment Sandor held hers back.

  “I have no wish of seeing the High City, Sandor,” she told him in a quiet voice. “I do not dare to risk someone with connections to the Dornish court recognizing you.”

  Sandor chuckled sourly. _I am worrying about our futures and she is worrying about the past_.

  “No one will recognize me, little bird. We will just be there for less than a day. If there are any Dornishmen in the High City, they won’t have a chance to see us, for we’ll be stuck inside that magister’s bloody manse.”

  “Sandor, you didn’t really accept because you want to pay him back for helping me out the other day or– ?”

 _I need wine._ Sandor released Sansa’s hand and stood up on the pretext of blowing out the candles in the house. He left the fire burning in the hearth and the brazier flickering in the living room, and went to grab the second skin of wine he’d snatched from the kitchen, shaking his head. He finished it in one long gulp and brushed his beard with the back of his hand when he was done. Just then the bell that announced midnight rang loudly. He cursed it out of instinct in his head, but was more concerned with his current troubles than with the loud clanging that was being heard in the city of Norvos. Sandor returned to the bedroom and looked over at Sansa on the bed, before he replied in a low voice, “Might be.”

  “Sandor,” Sansa repeated, frowning. “I told you that it was not your fault. We don’t have to do this just because Arman helped me out. We don’t have to go. Neither of us owes him anything.”

  “I’m not saying we have to, am I?” he replied as he walked to his side of the bed. “I said that now that he has saved you, he may feel that you owe him at least this, and since he could only bloody wait less than two days to invite you to his house after he just met you, unless we go tomorrow we can expect to see him here more than we would like to, pestering us. And there’s yet another thing to consider. He is a magister; he is bound to know _something_ about what’s been happening in Westeros. We haven’t had news in weeks now.”

  Sansa gave a little gasp at that.

  “Gods, how could I have forgotten? Of course! You’re right, Sandor. He may know if the war is done and who won. Tomorrow I’ll make sure to turn the conversation towards that.”

  Sandor lay down beside Sansa, and remained silent when she shifted around in bed so she could rest her head on his shoulder and throw an arm loosely around his chest. One of her hands began to curl around the hair on his collarbone as the other teased his hand. In a matter of moments they were idly running their fingers all around each other’s hands. Sandor treasured this, for it was difficult to imagine a moment when they would be allowed to fall asleep in this manner back in the Seven Kingdoms. When the single tallow candle beside the bed on the wooden table went out they had both finally fallen asleep.

 

\--

 

 As Magister Nervere’s golden palanquin bore her through the twisting cobblestone streets of Norvos just after midday and up to the golden gates by the Sinner’s Steps, Sansa reclined on its feather pillows and sighed long and deep. The covered litter was indeed just as beautiful as the other litter she’d seen previously Magister Nervere also owned, but Sansa felt somehow out of place. Sure, she had dreamed of visiting the High City more than once, but no matter how much she tried, or how much Sandor tried to reassure her by making light of her fears, the possibility of having someone from Dorne recognize Sandor would not leave her mind.

  _This feels wrong_ , she thought for the hundredth time. _And yet, what can I do about it now?_ They were drawing closer to Rozzo’s Square with every heartbeat, and she knew Sandor was not about to turn back to _The Three Bells Inn_. Hard as she tried, Sansa could not see the point of why Sandor was doing this in regards to their relationship as clearly as he could. _I’ve always known that once we’re with my mother and Robb things will be different, but hopefully only to the extent I can contrive them to be. Since apparently we did not have much choice on the matter, we should be enjoying this trip together as equals_. Being with Sandor in Essos for so long now had lifted the veil of fear in which she’d been hiding before, and now it was silly at times for her to remember that they would not always be like they were at present: living a simple life far from any troubles, where they made their own decisions.

  _At least I may learn something about the war and how Robb is faring_. _I hope he’s crushed the Lannisters, every one of them_. Yet it would be tricky to ask the Magister questions about the events and tidings regarding the War of the Five Kings, without seeming to be personally connected to them or their outcome.

  Earlier this morning, after they had woken and busied themselves with pointless tasks (Sansa cleaning the furniture with a rag and Sandor honing his sword with a whetstone), she had silently come up with a little back-story for herself and Sandor just in case Magister Nervere began inquiring about their pasts. _Which he probably will_. But perhaps it was for the best. So far, neither Vintos nor Frema has asked about their lives in Westeros, yet Sansa felt that if she expected Frema to teach her about men and women as thoroughly as she could, then the least she could do was tell Frema more about how her dear Alys had grown up, and how it was that she had met Edric.

  Sansa remembered the excited faces of Frema, Vintos and Medra as she told them that she and Sandor would be spending the day in the High City when Magister Nervere’s palanquin arrived at the inn exactly at midday, for the strong rings of _Narrah_ could be heard all around Norvos at that moment. The covered litter was being carried by four servants and four guards as an escort, who judging by their shirts of copper scales, had been trained by the Bearded Priests.

  “But, Alys dear, you need an invitation by someone who lives up there to pass through the golden gates!” Frema had pointed out.

  “We have one,” she’d replied, producing the beautiful scroll the Magister had given them for an invitation.

  And then, it was all laughter from Vintos, hugs from Frema, and tears of joy from Medra, all of which Sansa found quite pointless. After Vintos had replied that they were very lucky and Frema had whispered in her ear that she had caught someone’s eye indeed, Medra had been beside herself as she began to fuss around her, saying that she was honored to have met poor Alys when she had nowhere to go, only to see her end up befriend _the_ richest man in Norvos.

  _I am no poor destitute girl, innkeeper_ , Sansa thought testily, as she asked out loud, “How do you know he is the richest man in Norvos?”

  “Because it’s common knowledge, dear!” Medra has answered. “I’ve asked some friends and customers of mine what they know about him, and I was quite pleased with what I learned. Not only is he the most influential magister in Norvos, he is also the youngest High Magister in history. He has the Bearded Priests in his pocket and his house is one of the most ancient in all the nine Free Cities, thus he has connections everywhere! His father was elected as patriarch by the Tigers in Volantis for four years, and his mother was the only daughter to the late Benevolent Mererz Lozzoth, the greatest High Magister this city has known in a century. Magister Nervere’s parents are both dead now, but he nonetheless managed to thrive all by himself, becoming the great man he is known to be today.”

  “That’s all well and good, Medra,” Sansa had told her. “But I do not see why that should make any difference. I doubt I will see the man ever again after today, you know.”

  In truth, Magister Nervere’s family history did not shock Sansa as much as it had Medra. _The Starks are just as old and proud as the Nerveres or Lozzoths after all_. And neither did it surprise her to learn that he came from a family of great and renowned rulers. _Robb is not the first Stark to become King in the North. And if things had turned out differently, I would have been the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms_. What did surprise Sansa was that the Magister had probably not seen thirty namedays and he was already _the_ High Magister. _He never mentioned it when he told me who he was_. _It can be either a good sign, since he is certain to know a great many details about what is happening in Westeros, or a bad sign, as the threat of him learning our identities is even greater_.

  Concerned for her sworn shield once again, Sansa parted the beautiful white silk curtains to peer at Sandor riding Stranger beside the covered litter. He was mailed and armored, but had he only been wearing a light tunic and breeches he would still look like the most ferocious man Sansa had ever seen. From the moment he helped her into the litter and mounted his warhorse, a menacing scowl had adorned his features, and she guessed the long sword at his hips and his burns only made his anger more prominent to every passerby that chanced to cross his way. _He looks as mad as he always did when he was guarding Joffrey._ Sandor hadn’t looked like The Hound to Sansa for months now, but she had to admit, gazing up at him now, that there was still a rage simmering in  him that reminded her all too well of the times when he had scared her.

  Sandor noticed her staring at him and rasped down at her, “We’ve reached the Sinner’s Steps.”

  Sansa peered about her and saw that he was right. She saw the main market to her left, which meant they were crossing Rozzo’s Square and the Sinner’s Steps were ahead of them.

  “You’re going to tumble out of that litter if you stick your head out any further, little bird,” Sandor informed her, as he caught sight of her, straining her neck to get a better look at the fabled golden gates.

  Sansa laughed and ended up closing the curtains, confining herself inside the palanquin _. I can’t arrive at the High City halfway inside and halfway on the ground._ So she had to be content to see the world through the white colored hangings. Thankfully the servants carrying her litter were all young and strong men, for when they began to climb the Sinner’s Steps, she didn’t have to worry about rolling out of the litter as they ascend the Daughter Noyne. This was such a big mountain that she guessed there were about two hundred Sinner’s Steps and the plaza and the golden gates. Sandor managed to urge Stranger on with practiced skill up the steps, she noticed.

  When they finally reached the gates they stopped before them as two tall guards with axes in their hands blocked their way.

  “Who wishes to pass through the Golden Gates of Norvos and into the ancient High City?” demanded a man with a bass grumble for a voice.

  “Two honored guests of High Magister Nervere,” replied the chief guard of her escort, as Sandor simultaneously thrust Magister Nervere’s invitation at the nearest guard.

  The guards with the axes saw the seal and read the letter, nodding in approval.

  “Very well, you may pass, Lady Alysane, as may your companion, Edric,” the chief guard informed them, looking at Sandor’s face with suspicion.

  “Thank you kindly,” she said from inside the litter.

  The golden gates barely made a sound as they swung open at long last. The litter began moving again and Sandor urged Stranger forward into the High City. Sansa’s heart began to beat a little faster as she re-arranged the sleeves of her gown and ran a hand through her hair. She also pinched her cheeks to bring on a blush to them and bit her lips to bring out the red in them. When she was done she gazed through the silk curtains at the High City all around them.

  _It’s so beautiful_ , was Sansa’s first thought. Just as in the Low City, the streets here were like a maze that went all around the mountain, but instead of building them with cobblestones, these streets were made of granite and sparkling quartzite. The first sights upon passing through the gates were the beautiful man-made waterfalls and gardens and ponds, and beyond them were the manses. Sansa wished she could have eyes all around her head so she could look in every direction at the same time. All the houses here looked more like small manors really, with beautiful gardens decorating them with either fountains or stone benches under the shadows of tall trees with purple leaves.

  Streets with steps appeared near the biggest building she had ever seen, which by the look of it was a crowded, yet well-kept, covered market. Sansa noticed that those coming in and out of the market were mostly the household servants of the manse’s inhabitants. _The rich have no need of buying their own food_ , she mused. Yet that did not mean there were no noble men and women around, for everywhere she looked, Sansa saw the wealthy people of high status whose absence had been so conspicuous back in the Low City. There were many foreigners here as well, and even some handsome, strutting bravos with their hands on their gilded swords’ hilts. Turning to look the other way she saw a grove of pines leading up to the very top of the mountain, where the Bearded Priests had their temple.

  _Where does Magister Nervere live?_ She wondered as they passed through arches and columns and buildings with golden domes shining when the rays of the sun hit them. Conning towers could also be seen, along with a raised dais were men gave out speeches, and were mummers, minstrels and dancers could entertain the crowd. It took them half an hour to finally reach the Magister’s house, and even Sansa, who had grown up in a big castle like Winterfell, and lived the relative splendor of the Red Keep at King’s Landing, gazed in awe nonetheless at the manse before them.

  It was evident at first glance that this was the biggest house in all of Norvos and that it was located nearer the mountain’s peak. They passed through a long pavilion with a white fountain in the middle and gardens on both sides until they reached the front entrance to the house which Sansa saw was seven stories high. 

  When the litter stopped, Sandor dismounted from Stranger and parted the curtains to give her his hand out. Sansa gave him a quick smile and whispered, “Thank you,” before admiring everything around her.

  There were many little fountains all around, giving the place an air of peace and serenity, as a pair of peacocks in a carefree manner rested under the sun some steps away. Since they were deep inside the property that belonged to the Magister, the hustle of the city couldn’t be heard here. Thus, the tinkling of the water and the singing of the birds on the branches of the trees warmed Sansa’s heart. She saw that there were at least three stables in one corner, and when Sandor began to lead Stranger to one of them after refusing the help of the stable boy, she followed after him.

  “You won’t leave at any moment, will you?” she asked him.

  Sandor shook his head. “I won’t. But you shouldn’t follow your sworn shield as he moved his horse inside a stall, little bird.”

  She looked up at him, frowning. “You know I won’t be following my sworn shield. I’m following my friend as I told you yesterday.”

  “I’m not that here,” Sandor told her with a stubbornness that irritated her, as he closed the door to Stranger’s stall. “This bloody magister has to see that I am devoted to the task of protecting you in case he starts getting any ideas. So you’d better act the part of my lady and not my friend.”

  “But why would he– ?” she began to ask, when a voice behind her interrupted.

  “Lady Alysane! Welcome to the High Magister’s home! I am Urroc, High Magister Nervere’s steward, and was sent to make you comfortable while the magister ends his meeting.”

  “Oh,” was all that Sansa had time to say before the man bowed low and clapped his hands to signal a young serving girl to bring forward a tray with cups of sweet cardamom tea as refreshments. “Thank you so much. May I introduce my sworn shield, Edric.”

  “Welcome,” Urroc said, bowing once again. Sansa saw that he was bald and had crow feet around his eyes. _He_ _must have seen at least fifty namedays_ , she guessed, though he was clean-shaven and his body was lean and thin.

  Sandor looked at the teacups on the tray with disgust, while Sansa took one delicately.

  “Don’t you have any wine?” he asked Urroc.

  _Really!_ Sansa thought. _If he is going to be my sworn shield he should not drink then. I do not remember him ever drinking wine while on duty when he was guarding Joff._

  Urroc looked lost for a moment. “We do, but Magister Nervere only drinks wine or stronger drinks at meals and dinner. Would you like another drink, perhaps?”

  Sandor gave a rasping laugh at that and shook his head in mirth.

  “Very well, please follow me inside,” Urroc put in. They began walking up the steps to the manse as Urroc asked them if the trip from their boarding house to the High City had been pleasant.

  “The High City took my breath away,” Sansa admitted as they crossed a cage larger than she was, with white doves inside, cooing at them. A grand staircase that led to floors above them was built in the middle of the room. Sansa laid her empty cup of tea on the tray the girl was still carrying as she followed behind them, noticing the mosaics that adorned the walls of a living room.

  “Excuse me for intruding, Urroc,” Sansa said, “but didn’t you say that Magister Nervere was at a meeting?”

  “I did indeed say so, my lady. The High Magister has been at the Noyne Chamber discussing matters of great importance with the other magisters of Great Norvos since this morning. He instructed me to tell you that he hopes he will not make you wait long, but that in the meantime he believes you will enjoy seeing his gardens. They are well-kept all year round, and are fabled in all of Essos for their animal menagerie.”

  “How thoughtful of him,” Sansa replied as she bit her lip and threw a worried look at Sandor, who strode beside her silently. He, however, was scowling at the back of Urroc’s bald head and even if he hadn’t been, she very well could not tell him right here that she was worried one of these other magisters might see and recognize him.

  So, instead, Sansa looked around her at the way Magister Nervere’s manse was decorated, noticing that all the floors were made of smooth marble, and the most wonderful tapestries decorated the walls, depicting images of the old Empire of Valyria; of the magnificent city of Qarth and the lands around the Jade Sea; of Asshai by the Shadow and the Basilisk Isles; of wars long fought and lovers ruling over cities as their dragons flew above them. Yet the one that warmed Sansa’s heart the most was the one at the end of a long gallery with doors with golden handles. It was a large tapestry that showed the Sunset Lands from the days before Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters drenched Westeros in blood and won the Iron Throne with fire.

  Sansa stood staring at the tapestry of Westeros lost in thought. Her eyes took in the sight of the North as she tried to picture Winterfell as she had known it in her mind. _The Ironborn burned it to the ground, but Robb will re-build it one day._ She reached out to touch the fabric with her hand.

  “My lady?” Urroc said in that soft voice of his, bringing her back to the present.

  Sansa shook her head and looked over her shoulder. Both Sandor and Urroc were staring at her, the former with a curious approving grin and the latter with a bemused expression.

  “I apologize,” she said, blushing for some reason. “But this tapestry is very beautiful. It caught my attention.”

  “Indeed it must have. Magister Nervere told me you are from the Sunset Kingdoms, are you not?”

  “Yes, we both are,” she replied, glancing at Sandor. “Shall we continue?”

  Urroc ended up leading them to the back of the enormous manse where the supposedly famous gardens were located. Guards standing outside opened a pair of glass doors, and Sansa gasped. They stepped through the doors on to a terraced balcony which was decorated with a white round table and white chairs in a raised platform supported by four strong looking columns. When they climbed up to the dais, Sansa quickly glanced at the different varieties of strange and colorful fruits on the table and felt her tummy grumbling. Ignoring her sudden pang of hunger, she gazed instead at the sight before her.

  Below the terraced balcony, were the most beautiful gardens she had ever seen. In the distance Sansa saw a little maze with benches on its outside wall, and another fountain decorated with beautiful women chiseled from the marble. Trees lined a path of small groves that led in different directions, yet she saw no sign of the animal menagerie; instead she heard it.

  The horizon was beautiful as well. The only sights to be seen at any direction, no matter the distance, were mountain peaks and hill tops, as birds flew far away in the sky.

  A startling roar sounded in the distance, breaking the silence that had descended upon their little party.

  “What the fuck is that?” Sandor asked Urroc. “It sounded like a bloody lion.”

  Urroc winced at Sandor’s curse before answering, “Close enough. I think that was Tigra, the Magister’s spotted tiger.”

  “There’s a tiger here?” Sansa asked, pleasantly surprised.

  “There is, my lady; a female tiger. She is only one of the beautiful rare animals that Magister Nervere has acquired over the years. I’m sure the Magister will show them to you if you so like.”

  Sansa genuinely smiled and turned her back on the gardens, beaming at Sandor. Urroc instructed the servants to bring some things, so Sansa stepped beside Sandor and murmured to him in a low voice, “I’ll bet you he won’t have a direwolf.”

  Sandor seemed relieved at her words for some reason Sansa could not fathom _. It would be so nice to walk through this place with Sandor holding my hand_ , she thought.

  “Please, Lady Alysane, won’t you take a seat? I’ll see if the meeting has ended. Please, feel free to order anything you like.”

  Sansa nodded and sat down after one of the servants offered her a chair. She saw that Sandor didn’t move from where he was standing though.

  “Will you not take a seat as well?” she asked him.

  “No, my lady,” he said, with a snort.

  _It’s this stupid plan of his of acting only as my sworn shield today_ , she remembered, exasperated. Urroc did not offer him a seat, but knowing Sandor, he would have taken one nonetheless if he’d wanted to. _Yet instead he wants only to guard me when I want him to sit and share the food and table talk_. _One would think we two had never eaten together before in our lives by the way we are behaving_. 

  Sansa was thinking she wasn’t so sure she liked this change in their relationship –even if it was only for today– when their host finally arrived.

  “My lady!” was the way he announced his presence, as he climbed the steps up to the dais that consisted of his terraced balcony. He looked just as handsome as ever, and was clad in green robes that matched with her gown.

  Sansa donned her best smile and stood up. “Magister Nervere, your house is beautiful.”

  Her host stopped in front of her and kissed her hand. Sansa threw a quick look at her sworn shield.

  “I am honored to hear that it was to your liking, my lady. But what happened to make you call me by that title when just last night you were calling me by my name?”

  “I called you by your name before I learned that you were the High Magister of this city. A fact you seemed to have forgotten when you introduced yourself to me and Frema. It would not be proper to call you by your name alone.”

  Their host laughed at that, his dimples appearing on his cheeks. _He has good white teeth_ , she noticed quickly. “Please, don’t let my post intrude upon our acquaintance. I ask you kindly to call me Arman.”

  Sansa sighed. “Very well. Arman, I think you’ve done wonderful work with this house. I can only presume that you do just as well with the city of Norvos. Do you remember Edric, my protector and friend?”

  “I do,” Arman replied, walking over to Sandor, stretching out his hand in welcome. “Welcome to my house, Edric. Is there anything you would like? My steward informed me that you asked for some wine.”

  “I did, but I was _informed_ that one doesn’t drink wine until it’s time to sit down for a bloody meal.”

  “That’s a Norvoshi custom, but you won’t be made to suffer from it. Which wine would you prefer? Some sweet nectar from Qarth or Myr? Hyppocras or rum from the Summer Isles? If you would prefer a taste closer to home, we also have golden vintages from the Arbor and dry reds from Dorne down at the cellars.”

  Sandor did not seem impressed by all the drinks he could choose from. _And why would he? He lived in the Red Keep for years and certainly had access to the finest wines in the world. After all, King Robert would not have condemned him for liking it_ , she thought in his defense.

  “Dornish red,” was all that Sandor rasped.

  “Very well,” Arman replied before instructing Urroc, who had just appeared by the glass door, for a flagon of wine.

  “My aunt has sent us the casks, hasn’t she?”

  “She has, High Magister. They arrived last week.”

  “Good. Well then, bring the red and a tart persimmon wine for me, please. I will be breaking the rules today and have some wine during the meal. What would you like to drink, my lady?”

  “Some white wine from Lys, please, if you have some.”

  “I’m sure we do. And bring a flagon of the white one as well. Along with the ones that accompany the dishes. The food is ready?”

  “It is, Magister.”

 “Excellent!” Arman said, dismissing Urroc. He turned to face Sandor and said, “I know you are on duty, Edric. But we can’t have you drinking standing up. Won’t you take a seat? I invited you as my guest. There are no dangers you must protect your lady from… You would not object, would you, Alysane?”

  “Of course not!” she exclaimed, noticing that Arman had addressed her without her title of lady. “Please Edric, won’t you sit down?”

  Sandor had no choice at the end but to oblige– though the frown and twitch of his mouth made it clear to Sansa that he was not happy _. I don’t care. He has every right to share the table with me. It does not matter that this is one of the richest men in Essos. If Sandor was good enough to guard a king, he is good enough to sit beside a princess and a magister_. 

  “You are lucky, Edric,” Arman remarked.

  “Aye? And why would you say that?” Sandor growled.

  “Because I feared I was going to disappoint you. I promised you some Dornish red but could not remember if we had any.”

  Sandor shrugged. “It’s no hair off my arse whether you have some or not.”

  Sansa wanted to hide her face in her hands when she heard that, but Arman only smiled and continued, “Yes, yet thankfully my aunt sent it just in time. I usually don’t drink such wines myself, so she forgets to send it at times.”

  “Your aunt?” Sansa inquired. She had not heard of a noble woman who traded in wines.

  “Yes, my mother’s first cousin. Her family sends her large quantities of Dornish wine every year.”

  “Why?” she asked, curiously as the Magister’s beautiful blue eyes met hers. “Is she so fond of it?”

  That might be a rude question, but somehow she knew Arman would not take offense by it.

  “She likes it well enough, and her family can more than spare it. I mentioned her before on the day we met. We were at the common room of your boarding house and you asked me how I knew the Common Tongue, remember? Now that I think about it, you two surely must have heard of her before! She is Mellario of Norvos, the wife of Prince Doran of Dorne and mother to Arianne Martell and princes Quentyn and Trystane.”

  At that, Sansa felt as though her heart had stopped beating.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are reading this, I thank you SO much and send you a big hug! :D


	17. The High Magister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)   
> *My betas, swiftsnowmane, onborrowedwings, gingerbeer48, nysandra: have I told you before that you mean a lot to me, girls!! Thank you for the support and help in every aspect of the fic I struggle with :D  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.

  _Gods, no! Oh no! This cannot be happening to us!_ Were Sansa’s first rational thoughts after the meaning of what Arman had just said finally settled in. She gulped.   _No, no, no!_ If she had been holding something, she surely would have dropped it. Forcing herself to remain calm was the hardest thing she’d done in months, but in the end all the training of lying and hiding her true emotions or thoughts from her time spent in King’s Landing after her father was beheaded, was what saved her. For after Arman had informed them that he was related to a woman so closely connected to and affected by what Sandor’s brother had done during the Sack of King’s Landing near the end of Robert’s Rebellion, Sansa surprised herself by not instinctively looking at Sandor; nor did she gasp or appeared frightened at all, she thought.

  As composedly as she could, and without a hint of fear or uncertainty in her voice, Sansa managed to say, “The Prince of Dorne’s wife? Mellario, you said?”

  Arman nodded. “You have heard of her before?”

  Sansa stifled a gasp. _It’s a small world after all_. “Only in conversations.” _Cersei never fell for my lies, yet I was able to survive my time with Joffrey well enough with them_ , Sansa remembered desperately, in an attempt to convince herself that lying like she had grown used to would work this time. “Where I am from we do not learn much about what happens in Dorne, I am afraid.”

  “Of course,” Arman replied, sighing contently as he threw a look around his terraced balcony. “Yes, well… as I told you the day before last, I’m afraid she has not lived with her children and husband back in Sunspear for several years now. I believe that is one of the reasons why she prefers to retire to her isolated estate in the hills of the Nizzis for half of the year. She likes for her memories to keep her company, even though she takes all her court and guards with her. She even takes into that special sacred place some knights from Dorne that Prince Doran sends for her.”

  It was starting to become harder to remain unperturbed, and to keep no emotion to her tone. _Does that bit about the Dornish knights mean there aren’t any here in Norvos at present either?_ Sansa knew she was supposed to reply, but couldn’t. Her mind searched desperately for something to say, but Sandor must have known what was happening to her, for he spared her the need to speak by asking, “And is your aunt at her estate with all her people now?”

  “Indeed,” Arman said. “She has been living half a year on the Nizzis and the other half here in Norvos, and nothing really ever sways her into returning to the city before that time. She departed about a month ago, so I am afraid that, knowing my aunt, you will not be able to meet her in the near future, Alysane.”

  _Oh gods be good_ , she almost whimpered, trembling slightly _._ Her hand was shaking a little bit, so she hid it under the table and searched for Sandor’s hand beside her. Her hand first landed lightly on his leg but in the blink of an eye he took hold of her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She hoped he knew she was thanking him for saving her just a moment ago with his question. They both rested their entwined hands on his thigh, which even under these circumstances, Sansa wondered, _is my heart beating only because of the danger we may have just avoided or because I have my hand on his leg?_  

  Trying to look disappointed was difficult, but not as hard as not looking at Sandor. She managed both, though, and now that she was feeling capable of talking again for her frantic hear was finally settling down, she said, “I’m very sorry to hear that. I am sure she is wonderful.”

  _She isn’t coming_ here _, thank the old gods and the new! That she isn’t in the city is some small mercy_ , Sansa supposed. After coming so far it would have been too much to fall into such an ironic fate. _One of the reasons we could not head down to Dorne back when we were in the Kingswood, and had to cross the Narrow Sea instead, was because the Martells still loathe the Cleganes even after all this time_.   

  Just then, the servants arrived, carrying trays with flagons, bottles and golden cups for them. As they settled the bottle of tart persimmon wine in front of Arman, Sansa took this opportunity to cast a quick glance at Sandor, and saw him arching his neck to the side, as if he was curiously studying her and Arman _._ They released each other’s hands then.

  “Since I gather that as a High Magister it’s bloody likely that you are familiar with what’s happening in Westeros, has anything of importance happened in the war over there?” Sandor rasped suddenly, grabbing his wine cup with the hand she had just been holding, and taking a long deep drink. For a moment, Sansa admired almost absentmindedly the way Sandor’s muscles worked as he gulped down the wine.

“Well, how long has it been since you heard of the tides that have befallen the Sunset Kingdoms?”

  Sandor shrugged. “Couple of months.”

  “I shall be honest with you. The Sunset Kingdoms are too far away to concern us here in Great Norvos. The last news I heard of them was a long time ago. So old that I fear they are stale. It was about how Lord Stannis Baratheon and Robb Stark were fighting against the Lannisters as a new mad- king sat on the Iron Throne; a boy born of incest. We also learned of the manner in which Renly Baratheon was killed, just as his mighty host was about to defeat Lord Stannis’s. Is any of this news to you?”

  “No,” Sandor growled, as Sansa, with a sad heart, tried to not to appear too disappointed by the lack of knowledge regarding the outcomes to the war. “We had heard all of that before.”

  “I promise you that if word reaches me of something of consequence regarding your homeland, I shall inform you at once.”

  Sansa thanked him kindly, after taking a sip of her white Lysense wine. It was very fine. A moment later, Urroc the steward stepped to the terraced balcony and clapped his hands in respect.

  “The meal is ready, magister.”

  “Good!” Arman said, looking over at Sansa excitedly as yet even more servants brought in the food. “I hope it’s to your liking, my lady. I had the cooks know that there were going to be special guests visiting me today, and I’ve been told she tried her best with the food.”

  Sansa smiled, puzzled as the first course of food was laid in front of her. _Why does he go through so much trouble for us when he’s only met us twice before?_ “We are honored, Arman, yet I would call your fellow magisters with whom you were with but moments ago the true honored guests you had today.”

  Arman made a face. Even when he did such a thing, he was still one of the most handsome men Sansa had ever seen. “I see them almost every day, Alys. Some of them are good friends while others are wise or foolish or droll, yet I _am_ privileged to be considered one of them. But I was not wrong when I called you and Edric my honored guests for today, for I believe I will enjoy talking with you infinitely more than hearing even more distressing rumors about the east.”

  “What’s happening in the east?” Sandor rasped, looking down at the food he was being served. The first course was roasted mushrooms soaked in butter and garlic sauce accompanied with some crusty bread.

  “Much and more. Slave revolts, sacking of cities, gossip of three-headed dragons that belong to a Targaryen, the glass candles are rumored to be burning in the house of Urrathon Night-Walker in Qarth… The list goes on and on.”

  Sandor said, “A fucking living three-headed dragon and a Targaryen?” just as Sansa exclaimed, “But there are no more dragons in the world, or Targaryens. Everyone knows that _.”_

  Arman sighed before he finally took a bite of the mushrooms. “I’m afraid that we’ve received too many rumors to call this news idle gossip. The Targaryen that is stirring up the cities around the Gulf of Grief and Slaver’s Bay is believed to be Daenerys Stormborn, the daughter to King Aerys, the last dragon king to sit on the Iron Throne of Westeros.”

  “Isn’t she supposed to be the Beggar King’s sister? The one who lived in exile?” Sandor asked.

  “Indeed the very one.”

  “And you are actually telling us that she has a three-headed dragon?” Sandor rasped, incredulous.

  “Well, to be sure, the reports cannot agree if there is only one dragon with three heads, or three separate dragons. But you are in Essos now my friends, and anything can happen in these lands.”

  Sansa delicately chewed her delicious tender golden mushrooms, tasting the flavors of capers and peppers before washing it down with a drink of white wine. Dragons were hard for her to believe in at this age, yet this Targaryen might be another matter. _You’ve been wrong about what to expect from life before. What if Arman is right?_ Would this Targaryen mean anything in the future with regards to Robb and his war with the Lannisters if his cause was successful?

  Sansa, wondering both about if there were truly dragons once again in this world and of how she still felt ill at ease that Arman was related to the Martells in some way, remained mostly silent throughout the meal, letting Arman prattle on about everything and nothing, with Sandor at times laughing aloud in Arman’s face to show him what he thought of his table-talk.

  She watched helplessly as well as Sandor threw Arman snide remarks for almost every word he said, and decided she would let the magister handle her friend. She was both amused and appalled at what Sandor said or did at times. Though she knew all along that she had to play a part today, and even if she was still concerned about Mellario of Dorne, at present she could not help but relish every bite of the food served at Magister Nervere’s manse. _I have not tasted anything this good since the days when I first arrived at King’s Landing_. She thought that surely after the way Sandor was behaving towards him, Arman would never again invite them to his house, but the only thing she regretted about that was not having such wonderful food to eat. _Old Gage at Winterfell and even_ _Medra cooked well enough, but this is just perfection_.

  Several courses later the lamb, with a salad of raisins and tender carrots drowned in sweet sauce and wine, with hot, flaky bread covered with honey to accompany it, tasted just as delicious as the mushrooms had. Sansa didn’t have to pretend to be really enjoying her food. The hard part was not gobbling everything down like she wanted to. _I’m a lady. I must remember my manners._ Sandor had a second serving of everything she had, and when they finally finished everything laid before them, Sansa felt like her tummy was about to burst. When Arman asked her if she wanted anything for dessert, Sansa was so stuffed that she could not manage more than a single silver cup of iced milk sweetened with honey and cinnamon seeing as there were sadly no lemon cakes to be had.

  When all three were finally done, Sansa gathered that she ought to start playing the role of being gracious to their host and grateful for his unending kindness. _He is the most powerful man in the Hills of Norvos and besides interrupting me when I was about to ask Sandor to kiss me, he has not done anything wrong I suppose_. She was a Stark and a Tully after all, and had to honor her houses no matter if she was far away from her family- or that the man she had to impress was not even aware of her true identity.

  “Arman, I must confess that I cannot recall the last time I had such wonderful food!” she told the magister, truthfully. “It was simply exquisite.”

  “I’m pleased that it was to your liking, my lady.”

  Sansa looked for a brief moment at Sandor before crossing her hands on her tummy and saying, “Your steward Urroc told us that you have quite a fabled animal menagerie?”

  Arman laughed. “He did, did he?” He cast a look in Urroc’s direction, who was standing beside the glass doors. “Would you like to see it?”

  She nodded, smiling as she stood up. “Yes. A walk through your gardens would be lovely right now.”

 

\--

 

  As she walked through the palace walks that guided one’s way thorough the gardens with Arman Nervere at her side, Sansa could feel Sandor’s presence just behind them. Since he was her sworn shield he was guarding her just as he had once done with Joffrey, silently. It was unsettling that she could not turn around and ask him what he thought of the place because she had to talk with Magister Arman. _I know Sandor doesn’t care one bit about how beautiful this place is, but I still want to tell him what it is that I find special here_.

  “I’m quite impressed at everything I’ve heard you’ve achieved despite your young age,” she remarked to Arman as they stopped before a pond were a couple of beautiful black and white swans were swimming.

  Arman stroked his chin, saying, “I believe I do not deserve such praise. All my wealth I owe to my father and mother who came from prominent families themselves, and my connections were the ones to gain me a place within the council of magisters.”

  “But did they also win you the title of High Magister at the age of …?”

  “Two and twenty. I’ve been the High Magister for three years now. As to your other question, I can only say that I am honored and blessed to have so many people trusting me enough to make a difference with this city.”

  “Make a difference?” she asked, as they crossed a small bridge over the swans and the pond. “How so?”

 “Great Norvos is old and proud. The Doom fell on the Freehold of Valyria long ago, but its colonies still survive. The magisters and the Bearded Priests cling to the old ways though, and the people of the city wanted a change. I agreed with them so I believe that’s why I was elected as High Magister.” 

  “A wise choice, I’m sure,” she told him, hesitantly as she saw a white peacock at a distance. Sansa knew it would be polite to engage him further about what changes he was working in Norvos, but something in his tone gave her pause. _He doesn’t want to speak any more about that_.

  Sansa glanced back quickly at Sandor. The beauty of the garden was indeed lost to him, for he was simply staring straight ahead, with an angry brooding scowl on his face. _He is hearing every word we say._ The Magister and Sansa could hear his laugh, half a growl at times, to let them know he thought their conversation empty.

  “At the end of this maze lies the animal menagerie,” Arman put in, as he let her enter the labyrinth first. “My lady, pardon me, but I was wondering if I could ask you something of a personal nature?”

  _Here it comes. Brace yourself. Keep your tone light and your expressions unconcerned_. “Of course, Arman.”

  “I have no intention whatsoever to give offense, but I must admit that I was stricken the first time I saw you and your friend the day before last.”

  Sansa laughed. “Stricken by what?”

  “The sharp contrast between the two of you. It was not until you spoke that I recognized you came from the Seven Kingdoms, yet even before that it was evident that while your friend was Norvoshi, you were of a high and noble birth.”

  “Indeed? How so?” _If he wants to know about me and Sandor, I will at least hear him say so_.

  “Your face and poise for one; the way you hold yourself and speak with courtesy. And you did not seem surprised that I was from a noble house either when you asked me who I was. It almost seemed as if you had known many noblemen before and could therefore not react to my revelation the way your friend or her husband or your kind innkeeper did.”

  Sansa knew what he meant. After all, everyone had always told her how much she resembled her mother, and Lady Catelyn was nothing if not beautiful and elegant. Sansa could feel Sandor drawing closer to them as they turned to the right in one of the labyrinth’s passages where a large tree hosted nightingales and other birds. She knew he would not give any sign as to what he thought of the fake revelations she was about to tell Magister Nervere.

  Arman leaned closer to her and whispered, “And I have yet to hear about a poor maid who can claim to have a sworn shield as fierce as yours to accompany you all the way from Westeros. A man who didn’t seem impressed by my position anymore than you did.”

  Sansa laughed again. “I see… You know, it was the kind innkeep who informed me a little bit of your own history. You made quite an impression on her.”

  Arman looked at his feet then as they finally stepped out of the maze. The tall hedges of the labyrinth surrounding them from every direction had a path that now lead to a glass house decorated with some benches and masonry that was being threatened to be overgrown with weeds. “She was very hospitable, I remember. And skilled no doubt since your cut has healed well.”

  Sansa lifted her hand to lightly touch her wound. _In a couple of days it will fade away completely_. “You are a clever man, Magister, for I was honored to be born into a noble and proud house as well. House Mallister of Seagard. Have you heard of it?”

  “Mallister?” Arman repeated, as a frown appeared on his forehead. “No, I am ashamed to admit I have not. Is it in the South?”

  Sansa smiled. “Oh no. It’s closer to the North than to the South. It is near the Riverlands, for my family are banner men to the Tully’s of Riverrun.”

  “Ah! I have heard of the Tully’s. Haven’t they declared for the Stark king?”

  “I would think so. But I must admit I cannot be sure. I left the Seven Kingdoms before the war began, so I cannot be certain.”

  “May I ask you why- ?”

  “Did I leave?” Sansa interrupted. “I am afraid I do not like to talk about that. I understand why you would want to know, since you are the High Magister and seek only for the safety and welfare of the people of this city. But I assure you Edric and I are not a threat to Great Norvos. But maybe I will tell you one day.”

  Arman smiled genuinely. “Oh to be sure! I did not mean to offend you, my lady. Everyone has secrets, and we have but barely met.”

  “I _am_ relieved you understand.”

  Arman turned to Sandor. “Does your family all serve the Mallisters of Seagard as well, Edric?”

  “I am a Goodbrook,” Sandor spat in a voice that was rough and hard as an iron grasp. “We serve the Tully’s.” He caught her eyes and looked away.

  _He doesn’t like to lie_ , she thought, sighing. “Yes, Edric is a Goodbrook and the fiercest fighter I know.”

  Arman opened his mouth to say something, but never got a chance to continue since a loud and frightening animal howled then.

  “That was the bloody tiger, wasn’t it?” Sandor rasped.

  “You have a good ear, Edric. That is indeed Tigra, my spotted tiger. I believe she’s caught our scent.”

  Sansa was starting to feel excited about seeing the exotic animals that Arman had in his menagerie. She almost asked if there was danger in getting near these animals _. A spotted tiger is dangerous enough_ , Sansa thought as she recalled Old Nan telling her and her siblings about the lands beyond the Narrow Sea and all the wonders they had.

  It turned out that though spotted tigers were usually perilous, Tigra could not have been more different. The moment the animal saw her master stepping into her enclosure, she ran to him and began to bite his hand playfully. _Lady used to do that with me_. When Arman bid her and Sandor to get closer, Sandor put her behind him and said that she could not touch the beast until he made sure she was trustworthy. In the end Sansa wanted to take all of Arman’s animals. There were hairy apes from Sothoryos, enormous turtles from the Rhoyne and lemurs with purple eyes along with Tigra, as well as great elks from the Forest of Qohor and striped black and white horses of the Jogos Nhai.

  “Which one is your favorite?” she asked Sandor as Arman walked over to one of the caretakers of the great elk to tell him something.

  Sandor shrugged. “I suppose the tiger would not have been so bad if she had only had some fucking balls.”

  “Sandor!” she whispered, scowling. “Don’t say that. And Tigra is a girl. She… she doesn’t need-”

  “She is a spotted tiger, little bird. She was meant to be mean and wild. Cersei Lannister has more backbone than this bitch. It’s not good to lock up animals and turn them into something they were never meant to be. It’s disgusting.” Sandor’s eyes looked her up and down before continuing. “I would have thought a little bird like you who seems to relish being free again after being locked up in a golden cage, would understand.”

  Sansa threw him an angry look. _Why does he have to bring that up now?_ He was right in a way, yet his words hurt her. She hadn’t meant anything by wishing she could own all the animals herself.

  Sansa leaned closer to Sandor as they sat together on a stone bench and hissed “Thank you for reminding me of it. I am sure I would have forgotten had you not pointed it out…”

  “Wrinkle up your face all you like, Sansa,” he growled. “I know you didn’t mean anything by your words just as you know that I’m right, so spare me this. This bloody Nervere can brag all he wants about these animals, yet in the end he knows their affection is a feeble thing, for they have no other choice once they are taken from the wild.”

  They sat in a sullen silence for some moments, until Sansa asked, “You’ve seen an animal menagerie before?”

  “Aye, in Casterly Rock. Though I’ll give the man this,” he said, nodding towards were Arman stood. “At least he keeps them in the open air. Tywin Lannister kept his animals under the bowels of the Rock for his own pleasure till they rotted away inside their cages. Bugger me if I know why he didn’t shut away the Imp down there as well. That little shit was the strangest rarity he owned.”

  “I’m sorry for leaving you like this,” Arman said then, as he approached them. “I had to settle something.”

  “All these animals would be better off back were they came from,” Sandor said. “After all, they were meant to be bloody wild beasts, not imitations of cats and dogs and sheep.”

  Sansa looked down at her hands quietly, wanting to hear what Arman would say to that.

  “I could not agree with you more,” the Magister replied. “I am a staunch supporter of taking all the care that is required of the beasts that roam the grasslands and forests of the world. That is why I only take in injured animals, or those who have lost their packs. I rescued Tigra for example from some corsairs, when I was visiting the cities around the Jade Sea. And last year, when I was in my state at the outskirts of the Forest of Qohor, an injured Hrakkar was seen in my lands trying to escape a Dothraki khal and his bloodriders. The Dothraki are fond of hunting the white lions to use their skins as pelts in some traditions of their faith, so I had to persuade them to leave the animal alone with some valuables inside chests as an exchange. I’ve been informed the animal has now healed well.”

  _Gods be good,_ Sansa thought. Sandor was looking at Arman as if Tyrion Lannister had just appeared before them, capering on his arms and legs while Moon Boy threw roses behind him. She almost laughed at the way Sandor gazed at Magister Nervere with disgust and incredulity, for she had a pretty accurate idea of what he must be thinking. _Something along the lines that Arman can’t be for real_.

  “How nice of you,” she told Arman, suppressing a smirk, trying to keep her features relaxed. “Pray excuse me, but do you have any other animals beside these ones then?”

  “Yes, one more,” Arman replied. “My favorite one in fact. Nezza, a big grey elephant.”

  “What?” she asked, incredulous, unsure she had heard correctly. “An elephant?”

  “Fuck off,” she heard Sandor say under his breath.

 “What is it?” Arman asked, puzzled.

  “It’s just that…. Well, I have been longing to see one up close ever since Edric and I spied one down by the river Noyne some weeks ago.”

  Magister Nervere smiled, as he unconsciously swept his curls out of his face. “Down by the Noyne, you said? Was it alone or- ?”

  “It’s yours, isn’t it?” Sandor remarked.

  Sansa turned to look at him quickly. “How do you know?”

  “Because I think he is the man we saw beside the elephant that day.”

  “Yes, it must have been me. There are no elephants in Great Norvos, and such a big creature cannot live here since it would take years to get her up the mountain. So instead I had a house build by the Noyne were I could keep Nezza, and were she would have the river at hand to bathe in whenever she so wished it. I visit her more than thrice a week. In fact, the day I met you, I was back from visiting her.”

  Sansa’s mouth was hanging open a little bit. “Oh, how lucky you are indeed to have an elephant! They look so beautiful and imposing in the distance.”

  “Yes, they are creatures whom I have found can- ”

  “Magister!” a voice called, interrupting Arman.

  Urroc the steward was walking towards them.

  “Yes, what is it, Urroc?”

  Urroc bowed to Sansa, Sandor and Arman after he stopped in front of them. “Forgive me for intruding on you like this, but Quallo has arrived.”

  Arman’s eyes caught Urroc’s quickly at that, Sansa saw.

  “Has he? Did you take him to the solar?”

  Urroc nodded vigorously. “I did, Magister. He said he would wait for you.”

  “Very well, thank you, Urroc. Please send some refreshments his way and tell him I will be with him shortly. I will just escort my honored guests back to the front of the house.”

  Urroc said he would do so and went back the way he’d come from. Arman turned his head to look down at her and Sandor, sitting on his stone bench, and gave a loud sigh.

  “My friends, I am terribly upset by this, but I fear I must leave you soon. There are other- ”

  “Bugger that. We get it,” Sandor said, standing up. He offered Sansa his hand to help her up. The moment she straightened up he let go of it quickly. “Don’t say anything. It’s getting late. We have to go.”

  Sansa looked up at the sky. _It does indeed look like dusk is approaching. A day ago, Sandor and I were at the little clearing by the river, and tonight it seems there will also a storm._

  “Thank you for inviting us to your house, Arman,” she said. “It was a lovely day and it was nice to get to know each other better.”

  “I could not agree more, my lady of Mallister.”

 

\--

 

  Sandor locked the front door of their house, and gave a contented grunt. They were finally home and he had a skin of sour wine in his hands. _What a bloody long day this was._ He wanted nothing more than to forget it, but that was not possible. It was a good thing that Sansa had managed to convince Vintos, Frema and Medra to wait until tomorrow to hear what had happened, for he didn’t feel like reliving it all as Sansa tried to praise Nervere before his fucking admirers. _Bloody idiots._ They had even gone about asking _him_ what the High City looked like.

  “That was an interesting experience,” Sansa said as she began to take off her jewelry, and as loud thunder was heard outside. Medra had left the brazier and hearth lit, so the house was warm.

  “It was what I expected it would be. A rich idiot showing off his house as he tried to behave like he was a white innocent sheep, only that this sheep seems to be very interested in us.”

  “I know,” she agreed, as he followed her to the bedroom and she took off her shoes, leaving her jewelry on the surface of the table by the bed. “It’s unnatural, nobody can be _that_ good and honest.”

  “Glad to see you know that, little bird.”

  “How could I not, after King’s Landing?”

  She suddenly stopped and Sandor almost bumped into her.

  “What is it?” he began to ask as Sansa turned around and threw her arms around him.

  “Oh Sandor,” he heard her whimper, her voice muffled by his mail and armor. “I know he said that his aund and her Dornish knights were not in the city, but I was so afraid when he said who she was, and for a moment I felt lost. How can we be sure she won’t come back and see you? Why did she have to be related to Arman?”

  _Sansa_. “Shh, it’s all right, little bird,” he assured her, hugging her back.

  She shook her head. “Do you think he believed our stories about who we are?”

  “I don’t think he knows exactly who we are, so your story will give him pause.”

  Sansa looked up at him, her eyes wide with concern for him. “I didn’t like your acting as only my sworn shield today.”

  “Aye, and that’s just what I wanted you to realize. That we won’t always be as we are now. When we go back to Westeros, this will be how we will have to live our days unless your brother doesn’t take me into his service.”

  What Sandor would do then, he didn’t know. He wasn’t so sure if he would be able to ride away from the little bird if he couldn’t be her sworn shield, and Sansa would certainly prefer to remain with her family than live in exile with him.

  Sansa shook her head. “You don’t know Robb. If I talk to him and tell him everything you’ve done for me, I am sure he will understand. He will take you in. He isn’t like the Lannisters. He is a good man and he won’t mind if we are close friends.”

  Sandor broke into a laugh. “So you think your brother will allow us to share the same bedroom?” he jested.

  Sansa paled and stepped back. “I meant… Robb won’t mind it if I ask it of him to have you sit with us at supper-”

  He snorted. “So you intend to beg your brother for the charity of letting me sit at the table with your family, along with-”

  “Don’t talk like that! Please don’t’ be hateful,” Sansa interrupted. The look in her eyes was full of a fire Sandor had never seen before. The little bird threw back her shoulders, her face turning red.

  Sandor didn’t want a fight right now, so he drew her closer to him and instead, “You knew your brother, you don’t know King Robb.”

  They stood there for a time, with their arms loosely hanging around the other as they looked at each other’s faces.

  “I won’t let anything change between us, Sandor. Believe that,” Sansa promised. “I want things to go back to how they were just yesterday.”

  Sandor took hold of Sansa’s chin and lifted her head up. “Me too, Sansa.”

  Sansa smiled and grabbed his hand. His chest hurt in a strange way as he saw her bring his hand to her cheek so she could brush his knuckles against her soft skin.

  “Little bird,” he began to say, but Sansa whispered to him to remain silent. She led him to the bed, her eyes never leaving his face as she gestured for him to sit on the edge of the bed, and when she saw his uncertainty she nodded, letting him know that nothing was wrong. Sandor sat, gulping. Arman Nervere was now the furthest thing in the world from his mind, as he thought, _Bloody hells! What is she- ?_

  Her mouth parted a little as she knelt on the floor in front of him, her long hair cascading down her back as she tipped her head back so she could look at him. She took his right boot in her hands. His leg was heavy as hell, so she needed both hands to lift it up high enough to bring it to her knees. Sansa began to undo the laces of his boots, revealing her intent. The sight of his mud-covered boots ruining her green dress was just too much for Sandor. _She is a fucking princess, not some squire or whore to take your boots off and rub your feet after a long tiring day_.

  He grabbed Sansa by the arms and said, “Sansa, don’t- don’t do this. It’s not- ”

  Sansa looked up at him, as a frown appeared on her forehead. “What is it? I am just taking off your boots.”

  The way she said it- as if this was the most natural thing in the world for her- irked him in some way. He tightened his grip on her arms and rasped, “Don’t do that. You don’t _have_ to do that.”

  Sansa smirked at him with a little grin. “I know I don’t have to. I _want_ to do it. What is so wrong about that?”

  “Little bird, you don’t bloody-”

  “Oh Sandor, stop making such a big deal about this. This is not wrong. I mean, I let you brush my hair, don’t I? You don’t have to do that but you do it nonetheless and I like it. You let me take off your armor as well back in Pentos. So now let me do this.”

  That she would bring up the fact that he did like to brush out her long red curls shut him up all right, like she fucking knew it would.

  “Just this time,” he growled, in a low menacing tone, as he let go of her arms.

  Sansa nodded. “All right. Just this time.”

  So Sandor watched her remove his dirty boots- first the right one and then the left one- until he was wearing only his socks. Those too she took off with delicate gentle hands, and then his bare feet were resting on her legs. The sound of the heavy rain outside gave this moment an intimate feeling which he found he relished in, as he felt her hands brushing over his feet. During all the long years before the little bird came into his life, Sandor had never dreamt having a woman take off his fucking _boots_ would be like this. Camp followers and reluctant squires may do it for the knights they serve, but he would never have imagined a great lady would do this.

  But being here now with Sansa, it just felt bloody right.

  “You big man, you teased poor Arman appallingly today, you know,” the little bird remarked, as her hands began to rub his feet.

  After realizing that she had called him “big man” which he liked, Sandor snorted.

  “It was nothing more than he deserved, and not enough to shut him up unfortunately.”

  Sansa giggled, and that sound along with the feeling of her long elegant fingers on his feet started driving his body and his mind into dangerous places.

  “It was such a pity he didn’t know anything about what is going on with the war in Westeros, but what did you think about the bit with a Targaryen princess and the dragon?”

  “The girl is real enough, but I’ll be damned if there are dragons in this world again and she managed to hatch herself one or three or a bloody hundred.”

  “How do you know she isn’t just a pretender?”

  “Because the Mad King’s son and daughter managed to escape Robert’s wrath, unlike their nephew and niece who were killed by Gregor and Armory Loch. Stannis was the one who let Mad Aerys’s children slip through his fingers, and for that Robert gave Storm’s End to Renly.”

  Sansa began to massage his left foot now. “I remember Joffrey telling me on his nameday that the Beggar King was dead. I assume it’s his sister we are talking about, but if her brother was a beggar how could she have managed to- ”

  “I heard around the time that your father became the Hand that she had married a Dothraki Khal who had a large army. Most likely the beasts she has are those men. Not dragons.”

  “Oh,” Sansa said: she looked at the ground, remembering. After a moment she asked, “And if King Robert knew about them, why did he let her live? You’ve just mentioned his hatred for Targaryens.”

  Sandor sighed. “I believe he had Varys orders his spies here in the Free Cities to kill the girl. It appears they failed.”

  “Was my… did my father agreed to it?” she asked, looking up at him.

  _A fucking honorable man like Ned Stark agreeing to the murder of a child?_ _Not likely,_ Sandor thought, with a slight contempt. But instead he said, “I don’t know, little bird. I wasn’t in the room when the Small Council had their meetings.”

  Sansa brought her hand up to his knee and, as she straightened up and looked at his face, burns and all, she whispered, “I miss him so much.”

  _Of course you would_. Fuck, he had no respect for men like Ned Stark, but this was Sansa’s father. _She isn’t asking me what I think of him though. She is telling me that she misses the man she knew; the man who brought her up_. For some reason that made him remember his own childhood with Arwyn and his grandfather.

  “I know,” he said, understanding her. He grabbed the hand she had rested on his knee and ran his callused thumb across it.

  She ended taking off his armor as well, just as she had back in Pentos. _There hadn’t been a need for it till Nervere appeared_ , Sandor gathered sullenly.

  Some time afterwards, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, keeping each other warm as the fierce storm raged outside.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t express enough how happy your reviews make me, guys! Thank you thank you so much to everyone who reads this from the bottom of my heart, & your thoughts on it are what keep this story going!! Thank you! :)


	18. Of Horses, Men & Elephants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)   
> *To the betas: swiftsnowmane, onborrowedwings, gingerbeer48, nysandra- you all simply rock!! I am so grateful to have you girls helping me out with the story! :D Ily all!  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.

  Sansa woke up feeling Sandor’s arms around her, hugging her closely to him. For a moment she just rested there, her head on the arm he had managed to get under her pillow and her arm resting above the one he had enclosed around her waist. Their legs had tangled together during the night, and Sansa noticed they were even sharing the same pillow, and she could feel Sandor’s breathing on the back of her neck, making her nerves tingle all around her limbs.

  She could feel his heart thumping behind her, and the way his chest heaved forward whenever he grunted or snorted made her bite the pillow to avoid her giggles from becoming audible, as two little dimples appeared on her face _. If he wakes up to find me laughing he won’t understand. It will be like last night when he was being silly about me taking off his boots_. Sansa had only wanted to show him that he would forever be more than a sworn shield to her, but since _telling_ him that did not seem to have any effect on him, as he insisted on being a sulking shadow behind her that guarded her when others were around, for at least yesterday, the idea of doing something like taking off his boots came to her mind. _A lady wouldn’t be so familiar with her sworn shield._ _Once I would have given him a ribbon to tie around his sword, or a favor he could cherish close to his heart, but those days are long gone_. It would have been ludicrous of her to think Sandor would like to be treated like the knights in the songs. So instead she had thought quickly on a gesture that seemed and felt more real, and since Sansa was more than Sandor’s Lady and he was more than just her shield, taking off his boots and rubbing his big feet had hopefully had some effect on him. Sandor hadn’t liked her doing that, though, but she had been forced to distract him with small talk about Magister Nervere and all the news and rumors he had told them about what was happening in the fabled east. _Until the talk turned to Father_. She sighed, remembering, even if it was painful.

  Since Joffrey had shown her father his kind of mercy, Sansa had been all alone in the world. She had been the traitor’s daughter to everyone, and it didn’t really matter to anyone how she felt about being a hostage. _And no one cared that the king liked to have me beaten._ There had been times when it had all just been too much, and if it hadn’t been for the lingering hope of Ser Dontos taking her away from the city one day, Sansa didn’t really know how she would have been able to survive in the Red Keep after Stannis lost his battle against the Lannisters. _I would not have been able to bear it if they made me marry Joffrey and have his children_ , _I’m sure of it_. Thank the gods that she had escaped just in time, right after she had had her first moonblood, since she was now considered to be a woman to the world. Those memories made her recall that in two weeks she would have her red flower blooming once more. _At least now Sandor and I can pretend that nothing is amiss, except for the occasional pain in my tummy_. _I don’t have to fear sharing a bed with Joffrey._ No, the truth of her situation was very different from that. And it was one that she liked very much indeed.

  After a time Sansa considered going back to sleep, but the way she felt was too good to ignore. She felt safe and warm and loved and she wanted these moments to last as long as they could.

  When Sandor finally woke up too, he did so with a loud grunt, followed by an intake of breath. Sansa lay still in bed, and when she felt him lookign at her to see if she was awake or not, she said, “Good morning.”

  Sandor stiffened beside her, but when she refused to move so he could pry his arm away from under the pillow, saying, “Don’t move” he ended up not taking away the arm that held her by the waist. His head slumped back to the pillow, and he said, “Hello, little bird.”

  Without saying it they both knew then that they just wanted to lie there for a time, without speaking. _Just holding on to each other._ Sansa could feel Sandor smelling her hair, and when he did that, she took hold of his hand.

  _I was not the only one to feel alone in the Red Keep some months ago_ , she mused, as she remembered the stories that Sandor had told her about his childhood. About how he and his sister had been close to their grandfather, and how horribly Sandor had lost Arwyn and his mother and father. _And of course, how his brother hurt him_.

  The man known as the Hound had been thought by many (even her long ago) to be a merciless monster who was just a little less terrible than his older brother, The Mountain that Rides. Yet the whole world had been mistaken, for behind the mask of the Hound was Sandor, a man unlike any she had ever met. _Somehow, amidst the pain and the tortures; the tears and the lies, we found each other all those times at night in Maegor’s, and ended up giving the other comfort in the end_. It had not been a simple task, for Sansa had had to learn to look Sandor in the face without fear, seeing beyond the scars and the burns; while Sandor had had to learn to be less horrid to her and stop scaring her with his view of the world. _Yes, it was not easy_ , she thought, looking back. _But it was worth it if this is our reward_.

  Eventually, though, Sansa, thinking that Sandor may have fallen back to sleep, commented, “I don’t want to start this day. I want to stay here.”

  Sandor was silent for a while but Sansa could almost feel his reluctance giving in, and when he gave a defeated sigh she knew she had won. _He won’t push me away this time_.

  “I gather we can, since the only thing I had planned for the day was to go to Burnek’s. But that isn’t until later this morning.”

  “Oh right,” she replied. Burnek was the big muscled blacksmith with whom Sandor sparred with. _He must really like the feeling of a sword in his hands since he goes there every two days_. Sansa had gone to see Sandor practice once, but didn’t intend to visit the blacksmith’s workshop again. Least of all when Sandor didn’t even take off his tunic to reveal his bare chest as he practiced the way the squires and knights sometimes did back at the Red Keep. Sansa had never seen them at it, but one could always hear women whisper at the wells of Maegor’s Holdfast as they compared different men’s bodies.

  “I know you won’t come along. What will you do?”

  Sansa sighed. “Help out Frema and Medra, I guess.”

  She shifted a bit in bed to get a better look at Sandor. The side of his face with the burns was facing her, but she had not minded that sight for quite a long time now.

  “You aren’t hungry, are you?” she asked him.

  He arched his eyebrow. “No. Why?”

  “Since we are not going to get up for a while still, I do not believe we will be on time for the breakfast at the common room.”

  “I figure we had enough food yesterday to last us for the whole week,” Sandor replied, still a bit sleepy.

  Sometime later Sansa and Sandor heard urgent knocks at the front door of the little house, along with the excited voices of their neighbors. Sansa recognized their voices even as Sandor cursed out loud about fucking noisy neighbors who had no bloody idea about what privacy meant.

  “Good morning, friends,” they heard Vintos yell.

  “Alysanne, we have to talk!” exclaimed an excited Frema.

  “Alys dear, are you and Edric awake?” Medra the innkeeper asked as her strong fist rattled the door.

  “Wait a moment please,” Sansa called, as she put on a robe to cover her nightgown since Vintos could not see her in that alone. Sandor didn’t care what he wore. He just sat on a chair and put on his boots, saying that he had no intention of staying in the house as she told the neighbors what yesterday had been like at Arman Nervere’s manse. Sandor then grabbed his new scabbard and swordbelt, and stormed out of the house rasping “Seven hells!”

 

\---------

 

  Sandor walked out of the house with a curse as a response to the eager greetings Vintos, Frema and the fat innkeeper gave him. _Trust those bloody idiots to be nosing around_. He hadn’t lied to Sansa when he said he wasn’t hungry this morning, so instead of going to the common room to see if there was still some breakfast to be served, he walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a skin of wine before he went to take a bath by the well. Any positive feelings he may have felt as he woke up to find that Sansa just wanted to rest in his arms was forgotten now that the bloody magister had been brought up again.

  Sandor prolonged the process of cleaning up for as long as he could, but when it got wearisome he hazarded that Sansa was probably done with answering questions about yesterday and that fucking poxy prick Nervere. Yet he saw that was a wrong guess when he heard squeals of joy coming from inside the house.

  Fuming, his eyes fell on one of the innkeeper’s twins and he barked at him to let Alys know he had gone to Burnek’s. _That_ _ought to make that slobbering idiot happy_ _even if he won’t get more than two words out of his mouth in front of the little bird_.

  A couple of hours later, after he and Burnek were finished with their practice, aching and a bit tired, Sandor returned to _The Three Bells_ inn to find the place at long last quiet and with no signs of anyone around.

  His eyes fell on the stables. _I ought to check on the horses_ , he thought before walking off in their direction.

  The moment he stepped into the inn he noticed that something was wrong with Nan and Stranger. In the blink of an eye, he knew what the matter was. _Fuck, Nan is in heat again._

  Sandor had grown up with animals all his life, whether they were dogs or horses or two-legged lions, so he could recognize at once when this sort of thing happened. On the Valyrian roads between Pentos and Norvos- even if Stranger was too hot-blooded- the destrier would reluctantly end up obeying Sandor if the latter took him away from the mare in heat, and young Nan had been manageable then. But this was different. The way Nan was presenting herself inside her stall at his horse made Sandor snort. _It’s time they get to fucking know each other better I guess_. He didn’t see why they shouldn’t now that Sansa and Sandor didn’t need them to travel. Dusk was still many hours away, if he got the horses to somewhere open enough, then by nightfall they may all very well be back again.

  He spit into a bucket nearby and began to carefully put Stranger’s harness on.

  “There you are!” a little bird suddenly yelled behind him.

  Sandor turned around to find Sansa standing in front of him. He saw that she was wearing a simple grey dress, and her hair was tied up in a pony tail, which was the manner of Norvoshi women, he had once cared enough to notice. She looked bloody perfect, as always. The way her hair was pulled back brought into sharp focus the way her face had changed. It had more angular points and she really did look like a young woman now.

  “Oh, are you taking Stranger for a ride?” the little bird chirped at him.

  “Yes,” he told her, smirking _. Just not the ride you expect._

  “Can I come?”

  “I… You…” Sandor frowned. He wasn’t sure if Sansa should come or not, but after thinking about it twice he supposed there was nothing wrong with it, and he was curious to see how she would react to this. “Have the bloody fools left then?”

  Sansa nodded, unconcerned with the way he referred to their neighbors. She walked into the stable, brushing her hand against his as she went to take Nan’s harness from the wall. The moment the horses saw her, they began to get a little more agitated.

  “What is the matter with them?” Sansa asked him, as she began to put the harness on her chestnut mare.

  The moment the little bird was beside her, Nan began to nuzzle against her, lashing her tail. Sansa laughed. “Ah darling! You’re tickling me. Why are you so happy?”

  _Good_ , he thought. _At least Nan isn’t one of those mares in heat about to bite ears off_.

  Sandor moved towards Stranger to get him ready. Sansa looked puzzled when she saw him leading the horses out of the stables by the reins while they remained unsaddled.

  “Didn’t you say we were going to ride them?” she asked him.

  “Best not,” he rasped, unwilling to tell her more. The horses were too restless for her to risk breaking her pretty neck by falling from Nan.

  Sansa gasped a little as she saw just how agitated Stranger and Nan got when getting closer.

  “Easy,” he ordered, subduing them.

  Nan began to lift her tail and snort loudly, as Stranger, carrying his head high, started to prance and sniff around, curling his lip back so he could get a better whiff of the mare.

  “Where are we going?” Sansa asked him, walking beside him as they left the inn. “To the river?”

  “No. I remember seeing an empty paddock near here.”

  It was the nearest place he could think of where he would be able to free the horses without fearing they would run off and get caught or lost. The paddock was apparently empty due to the unkempt overgrowth of weeds, grasses and bushes, so no one would tell them to bugger off their lands.

  Sansa looked at him. “Why are we going there?”

  “You’ll see,” he said, turning to the left around the corner of a street with many pot shops and stands.

  The horses kept on snorting behind him, but Sandor kept them in check as they walked up some stone stairs a little above the foot of the mountain. The paddock he had noticed before was in a tough terrain due to it being on the side of the mountain, but he gathered the lack of smooth ground would not be a trouble for Nan and Stranger.

  “How was your time with Burnek?” Sansa asked him.

  Sandor shrugged. “Good enough. He almost had me when I lost my footing once, but the blow to the head I gave him later evened things out.”

  “Oh Sandor! It’s a wonder to me how men can enjoy causing each other pain.”

  He snorted. “Didn’t your brothers practice sword play back in Winterfell?”

  Sandor remembered a morning some time ago, when Robb Stark and Joffrey had fought with wooden swords in the courtyard of Winterfell under the eyes of Stark, Baratheon and Lannister retainers. It had been clear who wielded the sword with more skill. Yet, when the green boys began to complain about only being allowed to fight with wooden swords, Sandor had stepped in to side with his charge, the crown prince, and had mocked Robb Stark _. If the boy has forgotten that sally it may be for the best once we reach him._   Sandor then remembered who else had fought that day. _Sansa’s crippled brother also defeated Tommen, I_ _think_. At the time he had thought with disgust how a promising boy such as Bran Stark could be longing for the day when he could grow up and be a bloody knight, yet the boy had ended up being unable to use his legs soon after. Sandor hadn’t cared about that, and with his stomach clenching he remembered Joffrey had talked about wishing the boy would die. _He was still licking his hurt pride over the fact that Robb Stark beat him in training_. The news of a hired murderer failing to kill Bran Stark due to his direwolf (whom Sandor knew he had offered to kill if Joffrey liked due to its endless howling) had reached Robert and all the rest some time later. Sandor remembered wondering at the time why Joffrey was so upset when he learned the Stark boy hadn’t died.

  _Seven Hells!_ Sandor thought, almost stopping dead in his tracks. _Why am I remembering that? It doesn’t matter anyways. The boy died when Theon Greyjoy captured Winterfell._

  Sansa nodded, oblivious to his train of thoughts. “Yes, they did and they loved it. But I didn’t understand it then any better than I did now. Arya loved to watch them play and I even saw her defeating Bran once with a wooden sword. I am sure I still don’t know how and why she found it so interesting.”

  He grinned as he remembered Sansa’s sister and imagined the fights those two must have had once. They passed beneath a bridge connecting two tall old buildings and only had to walk down an empty path before they reached the paddock. Sandor finally let go of the reins so Nan and Stranger could get on with it. The moment they realized nothing was stopping them from doing so, the horses ran away as quick as thunder.

  “The horses!” the little bird exclaimed beside him, gasping.

  “They’ll be fine,” he assured her, walking over to a tree and sitting down under its shade. He rested his back against the trunk and regretted not having brought some wine along. They would be here for a while.

  “What is going on?” Sansa asked, frowning. She stood in front of him, hands at her hips.

  “Nan’s in heat,” he informed her, shielding his eyes with his hand from the sun. He took a moment to weigh the little bird’s reactions.

  Sansa gasped and covered her mouth, surprised. “They’re going to…”

  “Fuck?” Sandor offered, laughing. It was interesting to see how quickly Sansa would blush at the realization of what their horses were about to do dawned on her.

  “Mate,” she corrected, giving him a look. She turned once more towards the direction where the warhorse and the chestnut mare had disappeared, and knelt in front of him, smoothing her skirts in the process. She looked at her hands and threw him quick little glances, biting her lips in a way that made him feel aroused. Sandor wanted badly to kiss her.

  “You can call it that too, I guess,” he said, grinning at her.

  Sansa chuckled. “And what shall we do with ourselves while they are away? Do you think they will take long?”

  Sandor shrugged. “Don’t know, but we can’t do much in this piss-hole paddock I think.”

  Sansa sighed, looking about her. “Yes, you’re right. Those old buildings behind us block the sight of the city behind it, so there’s not even much of a view.”

  The High City could be seen far above them, its walls protecting the uninteresting lifestyles folk lived up there, making poor idiots like Vintos and the others think it shielded one of the fabled nine wonders made by men behind them.

  In the end, they could only rest and talk side by side under the tree, as the afternoon went by. Yet it wasn’t dull. The little bird began asking him how he knew so much about horses since he had been able to form a strong bond with Stranger, and Sandor found himself telling her of the times when he was a lad and he and Arwyn would watch and listen as their grandfather instructed them in the best ways to treat their horses; how to bath them and brush their coats; how to soothe them and break their wild untamed spirits. _He could not teach us how to handle Gregor, so he tried to make up for that._ Gods, how he wished he could kill Gregor! Yet the fucker was leagues away and still had to wait for his reckoning to come.

  “The old man couldn’t stand up due to the lioness that took his leg,” Sandor told Sansa, trying to distract himself from the hatred he felt for his older brother. “But whenever he wanted us to see the best way to shoe a horse, he would ask someone to carry him to the blacksmith so that we could see the process as he told us a little more about it.”

  Sansa was listening with eagerness. She was resting on her belly beside him, her head on her hand, propped up by an elbow. “And did Arwyn like them as much as you did?”

  “Aye, the little spitfire was an even a better rider than me when we were young,” he confessed, remembering.

  Sansa laughed. “I was never a very good rider, but everyone said that my father’s sister, Lyanna, was the best rider in the North. Did you ever see her?”

  “No,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I believe I would have been at the Rock around that time.”

  “Oh… Well, in any case, I believe your grandfather was not only an excellent master for horse care, but a good man. What was his name?”

  Sandor took a moment to speak. It had been years since he said his grandfather’s name out loud. “Halldor.”

  “Halldor Clegane,” she repeated. “It has a strong ring to it. You know, I really do think he taught you well how to treat with horses, not only because of the way you and Stranger understand each other, but because you even made me end up loving Nan when I hadn’t really ever paid any particular mind to any horse. It’s to be wondered at.”

  Sandor was brought back suddenly to the days they had spend in the Kingswood shortly after their escape from King’s Landing, and to the time when he had first properly introduced the little bird to Stranger. _She was washing her bare feet in a stream and when she learned that it was time to get to know Stranger, she was afraid, yet trusted me that she wouldn’t be harmed._ _Ever since then, she has trusted me_.

  Sure, she hadn’t had much choice since they were alone in the woods, but it made him feel good to see the sharp contrast from the first time they had talked when they halted in Darry Castle as they made their way down the Kingsroad from Winterfell to King’s Landing.

  “I also taught you how to use your dagger.”

  A little sly smile appeared on Sansa’s face. “Yes, that you did,” she said, suddenly straightening up. Sandor was still resting his back against the tree with his legs askew, and now the little bird knelt in front of him, resting both hands on his knees. “Did your grandfather teach you that as well?”

  “Aye, he helped,” he rumbled, low in his throat, trying to ignore the thought that if he only opened his legs, Sansa would probably fall right onto his cock. He let her continue to rest her hands on him.

  “Thankfully though there hasn’t been a need for me to use it.”

  “Let’s hope it remains that way,” he told her, remembering that fuck Arman Nervere and the way he looked at Sansa.

  The rest of the afternoon passed by with more talk of the same sort, and when they were heading back to the inn, with two happy horses walking behind them, Sansa took hold of his hand and didn’t let it go till they reached the stable of the inn.

 

\-----

 

  “When he touches me it feels nice,” Sansa admitted, as a blush crept up her neck. “His hands are so big and calloused, but that only serves to make my tummy feel funny and my heart to beat faster. When he touches me, it feels _right_.”

  Sansa and Frema were sitting on a blanket at the gardens of Nerezelle, with a pair of baskets at their sides, a week after the day Sansa had been invited to the High City. One contained some lemoncakes Sansa had helped bake the previous day, while the other had threads of different colors she and Frema were using for their embroidery. Well, Sansa was doing embroidery while Frema knit in the fashion that Sansa could recall Old Nan practicing.

  The girls had told Sandor and Vintos that they would be spending the morning in the gardens, but they had kept the real purpose of this little outing concealed. Sansa longed to have Frema answer her many questions regarding what happened in a marriage bed, along with other things.

  “But Alys dear! There are many ways to understand that!” Frema exclaimed, eating a lemoncake. “Where does Edric touch you? Or when?”

  Sansa blushed even more- a thing she could not believe to be possible. “Whenever our hands brush against each other, or when we wake up to find we are in each other’s arms. When he massages my shoulders. Things like that.”

  “So he has never touched you between the legs or cupped your breasts?”

  Sansa gasped. “What? No! Of course not.” _Gods be good, touch me between my legs?_

  Frema tried hard not to laugh at her friend’s face. “Shh, Alys, lower your voice! It isn’t like I asked anything unnatural.”

  “Yes, you did,” Sansa hissed back.

  Frema frowned. “Alys… have you- have you ever touched yourself?”

  “What do you mean?” Sansa had a hint of what Frema was asking, but in case she got it wrong, she didn’t want to elaborate.

  “Well, it’s just that I was thinking, and, without claiming to know or understand what happened to you two before you arrived in Norvos- he _is_ the first man you’ve spent so much time with, isn’t he? The first man you’ve shared a bed with and such?”

 Sansa shivered.  “Yes.”

  “And so you have never woken up in a man’s arms, or had a pillow fight with one before Edric, right?”

  Sansa nodded.

  “Well, without taking into account the fact that you say it feels right whenever you and Edric have some connection, I think that you are a bit overwhelmed by these new sensations because you have never experienced before. You are leaving behind your childhood, Alys, and just as almost every other girl in the world before you, these sudden feelings below your belly or the way your heart beats are natural. But I think that long before you can even begin to contemplate what is happening between you and Edric, you should explore your boundaries. See what you like.”

  Sansa’s eyes had gone big as saucers. _What would Septa Mordane or mother think of me if they knew what I was talking about now?_ she wondered with dread. Yet _maidens are supposed to gossip like this, aren’t they?_ It was hard to even consider it as a possibility, but for all Sansa knew, Lady Catleyn may have once had the same questions as her daughter.

  “What I like?” she repeated.

  “Yes. Learn where you like to be touched, and such. Get a little taste of what it is to pleasure yourself before you can expect someone else to please you or you to please others.”

  Sansa Stark gulped. “Between my legs, you mean?”

  “Yes,” Frema answered patiently.

  Sansa remembered the hot wet pressure she felt between her legs when she had spied Sandor washing his chest and muscled arms, or the time when he had rested his head almost on her breasts as he slept.

  “And how will I know when- ?”

  “Darling, this isn’t like a recipe for cooking lemoncakes. There isn’t a process to it. I guess Edric would be able to help you if you two were having that kind of relationship, but- ”

  “Vintos helped you?” Sansa asked, incredulous.

  Frema bit her lip and considered Sansa for a moment, before shaking her head. “No. My darling Vintos didn’t do that. Another man did.”

  “What?” Sansa shouted, gasping again. “You mean that- ”

  “I allowed another man to touch me?” Frema interrupted. “Yes, I did. And it isn’t so different from what is happening with you, Alys… Tell me, do you see yourself marrying Edric one day?”

  Once she would have answered straight away that she didn’t. At first because she was Sansa Stark, betrothed to the heir to the Iron Throne, and he was The Hound. Later because she was still a Stark, and no matter how dear Sandor had become to her, once they reached the North when Robb won, she would be expected to marry some high loyal lord to her brother sooner or later. It was so new and strange to imagine herself married to Sandor though, that she said nothing.

  “Well, regardless of what may happen in the future,” Frema went on, “at present you feel attracted towards Edric. I felt attracted to a man as well, once. Two years before I fell in love with and married Vintos, a handsome man from Myr traveling with a troop of mummers stayed in my village. I was ten-and-four then, and he was twenty. I fell for him the first time I saw him, and before long he won me over. He took my maidenhead.”

  “Oh, Frema!” Sansa exclaimed, fearing this tale would have a sad ending. _So she isn’t as in love with Vintos as he is with her?_

  “It’s all right, Alys dear, really. I don’t regret it. He left a week after that, and broke my heart, but he made me very happy in the time we were together, so I can’t look back on those days with regret.”

  “Does Vintos know?”

  “Of course he does,” Frema said, in a tone that suggested that Sansa’s question was silly. “Though Vintos and I were born in the same village, our forebears- his on his mother’s side, since his father was from Saltpans I believe- were neighbors for generations past. The fact that he moved to the city when young meant he was immediately wiser than me to the ways of the world. So when he came back to the village, it was a shock and a great disappointment to his mother that he fell in love with me. His parents couldn’t bear the thought of having their son, whom they raised up hoping would end up marrying a merchant’s daughter from Great Norvos, ending up with a common girl of their village who was rumored not to  be a maid. I confessed to Vintos that the rumors were true before he proposed to me, because he loved me and he had managed to win my heart and make me forget my first love. Vintos’ parents told him he would have no inheritance from them if he went on with our marriage, but Vintos told them that they’d raised a man who knew how to earn an honest living by himself, and thus didn’t need to be maintained by his parents…”

  Sansa took her friend’s hand and kissed it. “Vintos is a wonderful man.”

  Frema smiled. “Yes, he is. He is the love of my life and the best man in the world.”

  What Sansa had just heard was such an odd concept to fit into the life of a sister to the King in the North.

  “This is not exactly your situation, I know,” Frema said. “Maybe it would be a little if you felt attracted to Magister Nervere and were torn between two men, but since you’ve quite convinced me that the handsome nobleman doesn’t mean anything to you, I think that for you to have an idea of what a man can make a woman feel- or aye, what happens in a marriage bed- you ought to understand what leads to the fascinating things you will feel and do when you finally are with a man.

_But I won’t be for with a man for maybe years yet._ She was expected to marry someone Robb chose for her, and that surely wouldn’t happen until he had won the war against the Lannisters and rebuilt Winterfell. She felt sad thinking that she would have to wait so long to explore these feelings.

  “I could tell you how it feels when they enter you or that it hurts the first time you lie with a man, but I think we can have another talk after you’ve done as I advised you to do.”

  “Does it really hurt the first time as much as they say?” she asked.

  “It depends with everyone, I think. There is definitely a little pain and a sting, but nothing you wouldn’t be able to bear if you trust the man.”

  Sansa nodded overwhelmed by the new world of possibilities her friend had opened for her. _It’s too complicated_ , she thought, sighing. Sansa had been raised with strict concepts regarding marriage.

  “A woman should only be with one man, and that man would be her husband,” Septa Mordane had told her, along with other things like, “All men are beautiful.”

  Little Sansa had taken those words to heart, but these days she had changed so much, Sansa could not find it in her to judge or think less of her friend.

  Regarding Sandor though… Sansa knew Sandor found her beautiful in the way a man thought of woman beautiful- there were far too many hints he couldn’t control that she could not dismiss: like the way his eyes had recently looked with a hungry longing look at her breasts, or the way she had felt what she had concluded was his manhood against her back when they were kneading the tension from each other’s shoulder blades. _Or the time we almost kissed when we had the pillow fight, or when I was brushing away beer foam on his beard with kisses_. Yet kissing would be one thing, and what Frema had done was another _._

She had always thought she would marry a man who loved her and a man she loved. What she had experienced with Joffrey had changed her mind somewhat, yet she still wanted to be loved for herself, and Sandor didn’t even want to kiss her. Sansa knew Sandor cared for her, yet she could not be sure if she would call those feelings love. _He certainly has done many things for my sake, and if there isn’t anyone I trust more than him now. If I were to lay with a man, I would rather it was him than a stranger, kind as that man may be._ She wouldn’t feel anything for that man for a long time until she got to know him better, all the while being constantly aware that things would have been a lot more comfortable with Sandor, who knew her better than anyone else. E _ven if things lead to a point where I could be sure I wanted him to take my maidenhead, would he agree to it_? And if Sandor agreed, two things could happen between them: two fates which seemed a bit bleak. Either they could both regret it and end up having their relationship changed for the worse forever, or they would both enjoy it, but when the time came for Sansa to marry, would she be able to give herself to another? Would Sandor allow her to go back to another man?

  _I don’t think he would like it much. And neither would I. If the thought of not falling asleep with him beside me when we are in the North can sadden me so, what will happen when I miss him being my lover? And I am Sansa Stark. I have a duty to my House and to the man I will marry. I can’t imagine a lord in Westeros accepting the fact that his bride came to him previously bedded by Sandor Clegane, his wife’s sworn shield_.

  And then the thought of marrying Sandor hit her. _Gods be good, what’s happening to me?_ She felt so strange. _If Sandor doesn’t even want to kiss me, how can I expect he would be willing to marry me?_ She pictured herself and Sandor in the room which had been Lord Eddard Stark’s solar, sitting by the fireplace, as man and wife. The way she pictured it felt so perfect it almost hurt when she tried to replace Sandor with the figure of another man, or when she reminded herself of the possibility that Sandor wouldn’t want that kind of life.

  _Yet what does he want?_ _He didn’t like returning to being only my sworn shield any more than I did. He does like being my friend_. Sandor was acting at present to be only her protector because he chose to, but Sansa knew that back in the Seven Kingdoms there wouldn’t be a choice of pretending. It would be expected of them.

  Sansa sighed, thinking of the man she would marry. What if he and Sandor had some quarrel? She would be expected to side with her lord husband; a man who would be intruding in this friendship she had formed with Sandor. And he would be in his right without ever knowing how much her sworn shield meant to her. _If Sandor were my husband all of these could be avoided_.

  There were too many _ifs_ in this matter; if Sandor wanted to kiss her; if Sandor was willing to change the relationship between them and take her maidenhead; if Sandor was willing to marry her… And then she realized, with a great impact, an even greater outcome to being with Sandor. _We could even end up having a child._

  For a moment she considered asking Frema if she knew someway beside moontea to stop a woman from becoming with child, but thought better of it. _She is telling me to first discover what pleases me and I want to ask her the way I can avoid getting a baby._

  If she ended up with Sandor’s child for some reason, she would take care of him or her with every fiber of her being, but she did think it better to wait for a while till things settled and they saw how matters stood in Westeros.

  Maybe it _was_ better for things to remain as they were for now. All of this was just too confusing at the moment. If she was unable to help herself thinking like this when she was particularly close to Sandor, there was nothing she would be able to do about that, but to plan out her future like this didn’t seem wise to Sansa. _What has to happen will happen._

  “Oh Alys, it’s beautiful!” Frema suddenly exclaimed, interrupting Sansa’s thoughts.

  “What is?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Your embroidery! The little bird you did is so detailed,” Frema said, grabbing it

  Sansa smiled. She had always been good at embroidery. “It’s a handkerchief.”

  Frema examined it. “You know, if you did others I bet we could take them to the weaver’s shop Vintos works at! You could sell them for a small prince and if they become popular, then you could even start asking how much you wanted for them.”

  Sansa laughed, her issue with Sandor forgotten for the moment. “I could, couldn’t I?”

  “Yes, you could. The products from this weaver shop are meant specifically for the people in the High City, so you could claim any price you thought fair.”

  She had a pretty accurate idea why Frema was saying this. Her friend had hinted at how nice it would be if Edric and she decided to stay and live in Norvos from now on, but Sansa knew that was impossible. No matter how beautiful her life with Sandor was here, she could not contemplate a future in which she didn’t return to Westeros and reunite with her family. _Besides, it wouldn’t be pleasant to live in the same city with Sandor and Magister Nervere, especially when the latter was so closely linked to the Martells._

  “And what would I be expected to do here forever?” Sansa had asked her friend. “Have Edric take up some trade while I clean the house?”

  Yet Sansa knew that this idea of selling her embroidery may very well be worth a try. The winnings Sandor had won at the tourney in her father’s honor were smaller than they had been when they ran away from King’s Landing, and she didn’t currently bring any income into the sustaining of their daily lives.

  “All right, then. I’ll try it. I shall begin working on them.”

  Frema hugged her. “You’ll see you were right to listen to me!”

  When the girls got back to the inn of _The Three Bells_ , Sansa groaned, for there at the front door was the palanquin of Arman Nervere, flanked by the guards trained by the Bearded Priests, who wore shirts of copper-scales.

  “Oh no,” Frema whispered under her breath.

  “ _What_ is he doing here?” Sansa asked, incredulous. It had been over a week since she and Sandor had visited the Magister’s house, and for the last couple of days she had been foolish enough to think that due to Sandor’s behavior Arman Nervere was going to stop bothering them.

  Frema shrugged. “We will find out soon enough, I wager.”

  The usual crowd of eager and curious neighbors was gathered around the palanquin, afraid to get too near the tall guards with their sharp shining axes. Sandor’s towering height would have allowed her to see him at once, but there was no sign of him outside. _Maybe he is crossing words with Arman in the common room_.

  And so he was. Medra was fussing about the Magister, who was sharing a table with Vintos, while Sandor stood leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and a terrible frown on his face. The sight of him made Sansa feel as if her heart had lodged in her throat. To see him again after considering the possibilities of giving herself to him, and of marrying him, and of having his children, was just too overwhelming. And then to see Arman in the same room was also upsetting.

  “Alys darling, look who has come to pay you a visit!” the innkeeper yelled happily the moment Frema and Sansa closed the door behind them.  

  Sansa’s eyes flickered to Sandor before she donned her smile and curtsied prettily. “Magister Nervere! How good to see you again, you are looking well.”

  The High Magister of Norvos did indeed look very well, wearing brown robes that matched his curls and made his eyes shine like jewels. It was a sharp contrast to the way Sandor looked. Casting a long shadow from where he stood, wearing patched brown breeches and scuffed boots and a studded leather jerkin, his burns making him the most menacing presence in the room. Sansa ached to hug him now that she saw him in a more serious and meaningful light. She smiled a little smile at him when his mouth began to twitch, before she turned her attention towards Magister Nervere.

  Arman’s blue eyes met hers as he stood up and kissed her hand. “My lady, and Alysane’s friend, Frema, am I right?”

  “Yes Magister, hello,” Frema answered, blushing when Arman kissed her hand as well. “Vintos dear, hello.”

  “How was your picnic, girls?” Vintos asked them as Frema went to stand behind her husband, holding his hand.

  “It was fun, my love,” Frema answered.

  Sansa cast a quick look at Sandor before saying, “To what do we owe the pleasure of your fine company?”

  Arman was watching the way her eyes kept looking at Sandor. “My lady, I came here to ask you- and your protector as well, of course- to accompany me.”

  “Accompany you where?” Sansa asked, glancing at Sandor. Sandor chuckled, a sour sound, part rumble and part a snarl.

  “He’s come to invite you to see the bloody elephant,” he rasped roughly.

  Sansa gasped for the hundredth time this day. “Oh yes!” she said, before realizing that the words had left her mouth.

  Arman smiled. “Yes, I remembered that you told me last week when we were with my animals that you longed to meet Nezza, my grey elephant down by the Noyne.”

  There was no need to fear that meeting Nezza would be dangerous if Sandor was with her. _It would be nice to share this with him._ She turned to look at him, trying to hide the excitement from her face, as his eyes bored into hers. She beamed at Sandor when he grinned at her, and though his burns pulled tight, twisting his mouth cruelly, it was a sight that warmed her heart. Sandor’s huge hands rested on the pommel of his sword, she noticed, before he said, “Well then, let’s get this over and done with as soon as possible.”

  Sansa was glad, yet remembering that Sandor was probably going to behave once again only as her sworn shield made her a little crestfallen.

  It turned out she had been right in thinking Sandor would behave like her sworn shield. Yet the beauty of the encounter with Nezza was too thrilling to forget. Sansa fell in love with the big grey animal, which even got around to teasing her with its trunk. Sandor had asked if the elephant was like the ones in Volantis that people could ride, since it would suit the pattern of Arman’s other caged animals, but Nezza hadn’t been trained for that.

  “Just a plain new plaything for your collection, then,” Sandor had told Arman after hearing that Nezza hadn’t been saved by Arman in some noble cause but because the magister liked animals of her sort. Magister Nervere only chuckled and said, “A man must have _some_ flaws.”

  When they returned to the _Three Bells Inn_ , Arman Nervere had surprised her yet again with an invitation, this time to a ball. As Sandor and Sansa were about to enter the courtyard to finally retire for the evening after reaching the inn, Arman had bid Sansa a moment to speak with her in private. She had gulped quickly and cast a look at Sandor: he looked so angry that she could almost see him piercing the magister’s belly with his sword.

  “Of course Arman,” Sansa had replied with a heavy heart. “Edric, please, wait a moment.”

  With a grunt Sandor stepped beside a wall and was suddenly clad in darkness due to the shadows. _That’s the way he looked when I encountered him in Maegor’s sometimes, after visiting Ser Dontos in the godswood_.

  “What is it, Arman?”

  “My dear lady, it is the tradition of the magisters of Norvos to throw a ball for the people of the High City every year in honor of one of its members.”

  “Indeed,” she nodded, quickly starting to realize what Magister Nervere was getting at. Her heart began to flutter at the thought of attending a ball _. How long has it been? Oh, how my heart has ached for some dancing!_

  “It falls to the High Magister to throw the event. This year the ball, which will take place at my house in eleven days, and will be dedicated to the good deeds Magister Umeren has done lately.”

  “I am sure it will turn out to be a splendid and memorable occasion.”

  “If you would grace us with your presence I am sure it will indeed.”

  “Oh,” she said, pretending to be surprised. Sansa could feel Sandor’s eyes watching them, from wherever he stood behind her in the shadows of the night.  “Arman, I… you honor me by saying so, but I do not believe _two_ foreigners who no one knows would be of much consequence.” She was sure to make it clear to Arman that Sandor would obviously come as well if she did.

  “You would be if you came as my two special guests. But you are right that you would not be acquainted with everyone else. If I also extend a separate invitation for your married neighbors would you agree to it?”

  _Maybe_ … Sansa didn’t think it would be nice to stop Frema and Vintos from attending a large celebration in the High City when it was evident they had a great deal of curiosity about how it looked. _It would be a nice way to repay Frema for her advice about Sandor if I took her along to this ball_. What she also had to consider was Sandor. “That is really kind of you, Arman. I do not know why you are so nice to us.”

  Arman smiled handsomely and for the shortest of heartbeats he brushed his hand along the length of her arm. His touch didn’t make her shiver in revulsion, but it didn’t awaken any emotions at all _. Sandor doesn’t even have to touch me for me to feel my tummy fluttering_. “So you will allow me to hope then? In any case, I shall send you and your friends the invitations as the date grown nearer. If you and Edric do accept to be my privileged guests, I would like to make full use of that title. I shall invite the both of you to stay at my house for two days.”

  Sansa stared at him as Sandor rasped a laugh behind her. Arman paid him no mind. “T- two days at your house?”

  “Well yes. The ball is only for one night to be sure, but I could send for you the day before. And if you are a guest at the house, there won’t be any need for you to leave early so you can start the long journey down here.”

_If he continues at this rate he will start taking more liberties with us_. Sansa was perfectly aware that Norvos had a very different culture from the ones in either the north or the south back in the Seven Kingdoms, yet it was alarming to realize that friendships(at least with the noble folk of the city) were established so quickly. _I’ve known him for less than a fortnight and already he has invited me and Edric to stay at his house_.  “Arman, really, I am speechless, but-”

  “I would provide litters for your friends as well, so they can arrive at the ball just in time. They could even stay with you at my house if they wish it, but you would be the one honoring me if you accepted my offer of staying there from the day before.”

  Sansa’s mind and heart were a battlefield of emotions. She wanted to go to the ball and even have some fun with Sandor, Frema, and Vintos, but she didn’t want to accept so much from Magister Nervere. _He is the High Magister of the city and the richest man around for leagues. Frema and Vintos will surely agree to this. Can I really deny them this experience?_

  But most importantly, could she put Sandor through this? _I know Arman said that neither his aunt nor any Dornish knights she may have with her will be in the city for some months, but still, many important people will surely be there_. She couldn’t ask Magister Nervere if Mellario of Dorne would be there, but what excuse could she give him as refusal that he would not only believe but not insist on talking about?

  So she said, “Would we really be the only Westesori there?”

  “I am afraid so, but I would not worry too much about that. It will be a great event with many diversions. You shall hardly feel alone.”

_Stop making it sound so nice!_ “I believe you. I shall think about it and send you my reply when the invitation arrives.”

  Sansa heard Sandor moving behind her, and in a moment he was towering beside her, scowling down at Arman.

  “You better be done asking us to your house for this buggering ball because I won’t stand outside in the cold any longer, and nor will she.”

  “Your fierce protector is right. I have been thoughtless making you sand here in the night chill. Very well, then, I shall pray to R’hllor, the Lord of Light that you agree,” Arman said, bowing and kissing her hand.

  Sansa did shiver at the mention of the red god. Bidding Arman good night, she turned around, stepped closer to the safety of Sandor’s reassuring presence beside her, and walked into the cobblestone courtyard of the inn.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! :) I always love reading your thoughts on way the story is going!!


	19. The Maid in the Pool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)   
> *Thank you very much for being the best of betas, girls: onborrowedwings, gingerbeer48, nysandra & swiftsnowmane :D  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.
> 
> * I woud like to dedicate this chapter to gingerbeer48 because she was always a very dedicated beta through the long months this fic has been going on, but who must now leave us. Thank you so much gingerbeer48!! Ever since the start you were there to encourage me, and without it this story may never have arrived here. Thank you!! :)  
> *I would also like to thank nysandra and luvxena for their undying support over a particular bit in this chapter!

  If it hadn’t been for the stupid invitation they received, and the confirmation they sent to Nervere, accepting the offer to stay at his house for two days, they would have had no contact whatsoever with the sodding magister for more than a week, a fact that neither Sandor nor Sansa would have minded at all. Still, during the ten days that followed the trip to meet the elephant, Arman Fucking Nervere was very much in Sandor’s thoughts.

  _Bloody idiot_ , Sandor thought as he played with Stranger’s muzzle the way the horse liked it. It made him silently rage that now the fucking magister was starting to take liberties in asking Sansa and him over to his house. _Fucking stupid, I should’ve known,_ he thought. _I should’ve known that once we let him inside the door, it would be hard to kick him out._ _It wouldn’t surprise me if he invented this ball just so he could have another chance to have Sansa go to his house; to see a little bit more of how she is_.

  Sandor spat. He wouldn’t have laughed at the magister’s attempts to court Sansa if he hadn’t been sure Sansa had absolutely no interest in him, of course. But since the ever courteous little bird found it in her to mock Nervere and imitate him around Sandor at times, he wasn’t worried.

  “What a pompous man he is!” she once remarked. “He is courteous and hasn’t done anything wrong, but I do find him a bit dull.”

  Sansa had looked at him then, as he laughed at her words with an approving roar that made him feel like she was trying to tell him that if she found Nervere dull, it was because she was accustomed to excitement from their travels together. Or so he decided to believe.

  It was dusk at present, and quickly becoming dark, yet the tallow candles all about the stable, along with the lantern outside, made it easier for Sandor to pull the stones from Stranger’s shoes and for the little bird to brush Nan’s coat.

  _The Norvoshi make fine_ _steel_ , he noticed as he examined the horse shoes he’d gotten for Stranger. But that wasn’t a surprise, since the Rhoynish usually were known throughout the world for it. Sandor kept casting quick furtive glances at Sansa, taking in how she pursed her tongue between her lips as she stretched to try and reach Nan’s stifle and hock. If she hadn’t been so tall, it would have been hard for him to casually stare at her as she ran the brush across Nan’s back.

  Tomorrow was the day they would be going to stay at Nervere’s house, and the little bird had already packed the things they were going to need for the two days they would be away from the inn. Vintos and Frema had been ready to piss themselves in excitement when Sansa told them of the ball they had been invited to, and, of course, they had wasted no bloody time in letting them know that they were more than willing to attend. Sansa had looked at him with a pained expression when their eyes met, but she had nodded at her friends, resigned.

  She had discussed with him that she felt obliged to Frema for being such a nice and true friend to her, and thus she let Frema know that her desire to see the High City could be granted, and Sandor, not wanting to appear like he feared accepting the invitation to the lamb’s den that was Nervere’s house, had consented in going. He would never have risked it if he felt Sansa would be danger, and wouldn’t have cared what the world thought of him for that. 

  “But Mellario and her Dornish knights–” the little bird had protested.

  “Won’t be there,” he reminded her. “Remember what the prick told us? They won’t come to the city for months.”

  “I suppose so, but still…”

  Sandor would rather not go at all. But he had seen how hard Sansa tried to hide the excitement that the prospect of going to the buggering ball brought to her face, and so didn’t think it would be fair to deny her this chance just because he didn’t feel like going to that farce. _Seven hells, I had my fill of them in King’s Landing_. But if he had risked his skin in the thick of a riot just so he could carry Sansa to safety; dared take her away from King’s Landing and her prison; given up the chance to kill Gregor sooner than he would have liked, and moved to Norvos for a time so Sansa could enjoy life, then he was damned if he couldn’t be Nervere’s guest for two fucking days if that would make the little bird happy.

  Presently, she was humming some song Sandor had a hunch he’d heard before, but he didn’t ask her which one it was. It was enough to have her near and share this moment of silence between them, considering that tomorrow they would be going to stay at Nervere’s palace for two days.

  Sansa kissed Nan’s muzzle then, and when Sandor shot her a look, he became aware that she was staring at him intently.

  “Out with it, little bird,” he spat.

  “Who do you think Nan’s foal will take after?” she said, chirping prettily.

  He shrugged, grabbing the skin of wine on the stall beside him. “Probably Stranger.”

  Sansa had convinced herself that Nan was carrying his warhorse’s foal, despite Sandor explaining to her that they wouldn’t know for many months to come. 

  “Nan will carry the colt for eleven months, little bird,” he had told her. “We have to wait around eight months to know for sure.”

_And where will we be at that time_? he wondered silently. He didn’t expect to be here in eleven months, and knew Sansa wouldn’t want to prolong her stay away from her family for so long, so at least he had about six months more to able to ride Nan as she decided where they should go to next.

  “A black horse,” she was musing presently, brushing away. “Can I name the colt or filly?”

  “If you want to.” Then, feeling slightly curious he said, “What do you have in mind?”

  Sansa bit her lip in concentration. “I don’t know. I’ll have to give it some thought.”

  “Just as long as you don’t expect me to allow Stranger’s colt to be called Florian or Symeon,” he warned her, taking a long drink from the skin.

  She laughed. “Oh, I won’t! Even _I_ think it would be sad to have a colt of Stranger’s called that, when his fierce father possessed such a blasphemous name.”

  Sandor gave Stranger a pat on his back before saying, “You’re looking forward to the ball, aren’t you? You like those sorts of things.”

  Sansa frowned, looking surprised he would ask or even notice it, but in the end she nodded vigorously.

  “Yes, I can’t wait,” she confessed. “I haven’t been able to go to one in an awfully long time, but I love dancing. Back in Winterfell, I used to love to sing, do embroidery, write poetry, play the harp and the bells, and dance so much that I–what is it?” she asked him, noticing his expression.

  “A perfect little bird from the Summer Isles, indeed,” he said in jest, remembering when he had first met Sansa, and the foolish girl she had once been. He had been a drunkard who teased and mocked her cruelly, _while_ _she was young and unaware of the way the world was, due to the fact that she had grown up in a family who loved her_. Sandor remembered a wooden knight he had tried to play with once, and then the sickening smell of his own flesh burning as Gregor shoved his face into the burning coals of a brazier, and held him there while he screamed and screamed. _I was young once, too, but I could not afford to be foolish without retribution._

  Sansa stuck her tongue out at him, laughing. “Is that the way of it, then?”

  She asked that in such a teasing tone that Sandor was brought back to the present, stiffening at the effect her voice had on him. The little bird began to approach him, saying, “I don’t think you mind the talents of a lady so much anymore, you know. You like to hear me sing, and you liked that piece of embroidery I showed you the other day.”

  He had. It was fine work, and it was his since she had given it to Sandor as a token of the time when he had dabbed blood from her lip with his own, and stopped her from killing Joffrey when the bastard showed her Ned Stark’s head.

  She was standing in front of him now, hands on hips, and a wicked grin on her face. Sandor took a step closer to her, and lifted her chin with his hand. “No, you are wrong in that. I don’t like ladies, and there aren’t many little birds out there that can do all that you’ve just said and still be like you are.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  Sandor remembered all the noblewomen he’d met over the years to whom he had only been a Lannister dog. Stupid women who couldn’t look at him without fainting, and whom he had heard telling lies disguised as courtesies to men in order to please them and show off their fancy feathers. Cersei Lannister and crazy Lysa Arryn had been some, along with boring Lady Stokeworth, Kevan Lannister’s wife, or even the wife of Stannis Baratheon–the woman with the moustache. _To think the most beautiful and honest of them would end up here with me–the only one who is worth it_.

  “It means that you are better than all of them put together.”

  Sansa bit her lip, and uncertainty clouded her eyes for a moment. But she stood her ground and said, “We didn’t turn out to be like we once thought the other was, did we?”

  Nan neighed then, breaking the moment and sparing Sandor the necessity of coming up with a reply. The view of the most beautiful woman in the world looking up at his face like that–burns and all, was bringing into awareness the sudden tightness in his breeches.

  Both of them looked at their feet then, a bit embarrassed for whatever it was that had just transpired between them, until Sansa said, stroking her arm unconsciously, “I’m glad we turned out to be different people than the ones we would be.”

  “Me too,” he said, a bit too bloody hoarsely.

  Half an hour later, they were in the living room, with the fireplace lit to drive away the chill of the night. Sandor was sitting in one of the chairs at the table, a flagon of wine in his hand, while Sansa lay on her stomach on a blanket on the floor beside the fireplace. Sandor didn’t like her to be so close to the hearth, but there was no danger of her suffering a fate like his. She was reading a book written in High Valyrian, speaking some words out loud at times when they happened to be new to her.

  Silence had fallen once more between them, but since Sandor was lost in thought as his eyes were fixed in contemplating Sansa and staring at the flames in the hearth, it didn’t really matter. _She is too beautiful and I am a man, I can’t help myself. I have to look at her for as long as I can, so that I can remember evenings like this in the future when we are back among the wolves of the north_.

  His mind began to drift away as the sight of the shifting flames took him to his past. With the deaths of his mother, Arwyn, and his grandfather at such a young age, Sandor hadn’t remembered in decades what it was like growing up in a home with people who loved him and he cared for in return. But looking at the little bird reading that buggering book, the realization that for the last couple of months he had been living (no matter if they were on the road, or at an inn or boarding house) in a sort of home with Sansa, made him stop to fucking appreciate it all once more.

  She had changed his life for the better. _I am not a good man, but she nonetheless sees something good in me. No matter how much I tried to tell her that I was not a ser but a killer, she still has come all this way with me._ At times, Sandor missed the old days when he had nothing and no one to care about: when standing guard, killing, fucking and drinking were the only things he lived for–that, and the thought of burning Gregor with wildfire. _I haven’t been properly drunk in months and have only my hand to fuck, all because I am now with her, but can’t have her properly_. Yet he had to admit that, now, the thought of living up to the expectations the little bird had of him was both exciting and discouraging at the same time. _It would be a wonder to live every day of my life with her, trying to make her happy, but it would be a fucking miserable hell if she was married to another and my efforts came second after her lord husband’s_.

  _What_ _if there wasn’t any other man around, though?_ a voice whispered inside him. Staring at Sansa in front of him, and knowing that she wanted to be with him of her own free will in Essos for a while longer, was happy with this life they were leading, and had been for quite long now, made him imagine for the first time what it would be like if she was his. Ignoring who she was and her bloody family and, most importantly, that she would probably never agree to it, this rare concept was not as unpleasant or disdainful as he had once believed.

  Fuck, even Stranger, the most infamous destrier ever to be housed at the Red Keep, could now be forming a family of sorts. And then he imagined forming a family of his own with Sansa, and it was such a surreal thought that he didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or run away. Thinking about having children with her scared him, because while he knew Sansa was practically born to be the greatest mother in history, _he_ was not the stuff husbands or fathers were made of. _You don’t know that for sure anymore, though. Once you would never have thought it in you to fall so deeply for a girl, and look at you now_.

_Seven blasted buggering hells_ , why the fuck was he imagining having pups with her when he couldn’t even allow himself to give in to his needs and simply _kiss_ her? All these thoughts about forming a family–of aspiring and daring to hope for something he had dismissed as worthless because they would never be his. How could they be his when he was The Hound?–were making him vulnerable. _One of the bloody reasons I accepted that white cloak was because I had no wife or lands to forsake, and no one would have cared if I did,_ but now so many things had happened that he wasn’t so sure where he stood in that regard.

  Shaking his head as it was becoming too painful to brood on the future any longer, Sandor cursed low and ran his hand across his face.

  Sansa looked up from her book, her legs crossed upwards swaying slightly. She smiled at him and gave him a knowing look. “Tired?”

  “A bit,” he said, drinking some wine.

  She closed the book. “It’s late. We should go to bed.”

  _Aye, go to bed together for the last time for two days._ That was too long for him, but what could he do about that now? Cursing Arman Nervere, as he felt like hell while he tried to picture tomorrow when they would have to spend their days with the fucking magister, and feeling his insides coil as the log in the hearth crackled, Sandor remarked, “He is a follower of the red god, you know.”

  Sansa frowned for a moment, but quickly understood his meaning. She turned her head to look at the flames in the fireplace and looked down at the book cover, caressing it lightly.

  “I know,” she said softly. “We’ve talked about it before.”

  “We have, but that doesn’t mean I can just stop having this bad feeling about it, does it?”

  No matter how much he tried to convince himself that the fact that Nervere believed in some god, unlike Sandor himself, was of no consequence. He couldn’t let it go that the one he worshiped was a fucking _fire_ god.

  Sansa sighed and gave a weak chuckle. “I am still more concerned about his Dornish connections than about the fact he is a follower of the red god.”

  “Get away from the fireplace,” he thought, realizing a moment too late that he had said it out loud.

  _What a stupid thing to say._ The little bird had been resting beside the hearth for a while now, so why he would suddenly fear she would get burned was a bloody wonder to him. Sansa, however, didn’t comment on it. Her frown reappeared for a moment, but then her eyes softened. She stood up and walked towards him sitting in the chair. After putting the book on the surface of the table, she offered him both her hands. Sandor chuckled sourly, thinking she intended to tug him to his feet and lead him to bed, but when he took her delicate soft hands in his, her long fingers curling around his thick calloused ones, Sansa didn’t pull him up to his feet. Instead, she knelt before him and rested her chin on his knee.

  Looking up at him with eyes full of understanding, she said, “I know. I understand.”

  Sandor didn’t have to ask what was it was that she understood. He knew as well as her that what Gregor had done to him was silently hanging in the air, but instead of creating a wall between them, it was bringing them closer. _Fuck, she understood what was happening with me when the wildfire burned Blackwater Bay. Of course, she understands me now_. It didn’t make him feel ashamed, though. In fact, it made him feel a bit frustrated that she could read him so well at times, just as much as it made him feel appreciated that she could be conscious of the struggles that tormented his soul. _That’s it, little bird, take a good long stare at me_ , he thought, playing with the possibility that she was gazing up at him in consideration for a suitor. _If you’re going to be my doom, you better_ _get the idea of what it would be like to have me as your husband–aye, or lifelong partner, if you decided to take the risk, so that you don’t regret it afterwards_. Sandor didn’t lie about who he was, and wasn’t about to start now just because he was aching for everything that Sansa could give him.

  Sansa straightened up and reached with a casual hand to put a stray strand of his hair behind what was left of his burned ear. His eyes watched hers as she made that gesture, and though Sandor couldn’t feel her fingers brushing against the melted flesh of his face, just knowing that she was touching his burns made him shudder.  

  “We’ll be all right, big man,” she assured him.

  Sandor’s laughter then sounded like dogs snarling at each other in a pit, but it was a sincere laugh.

  “Is that how you’re going to call me now, little bird?”

  Sansa smiled mischievously. “Do you mind my calling you that?”

  “Not at all. Be my guest, I sure am as much of a big man as you are a little bird.”

  “Good,” Sansa said, beaming at him.

 

***

 

  “These shall be your apartments, my lady,” Urroc announced, as he opened the pair of doors into what was to be her bedchambers for the next two days. “I trust you shall find them to your liking.”

  Sansa followed Urroc inside, with Sandor bringing up the rear, and stopped dead in her tracks once she was inside the room.

  “Gods,” she gasped, covering her mouth with her hands as her eyes wandered up to the tall arched ceiling. Sansa Stark was no stranger to the comforts of the rich, even if it had been a while since she had last enjoyed them, but this room was just pure opulence. _It’s too beautiful_ , she thought, as her eyes fell on every expensive decoration and piece of comfortable furniture.

  Two wide spacious rooms, separated not by walls but by golden columns with veils hanging from them, served as a living room and bedroom–and they were going to be all hers. In the living room, the smooth marble floor was hidden in places by deep colored carpets, and the walls had many tapestries hanging from golden pegs.

  Sandor laughed as he caught sight of one hanging near the door. “See this, my lady? It seems someone told Nervere that you were fond of this one.”

  Sansa stepped beside Sandor to see what he was looking at and rolled her eyes at Arman Nervere’s attempts at gallantry. “I see that you are right, Edric.”

  Urroc, Magister Nervere’s steward, cleared his throat. “Indeed, I told the High Magister that this tapestry of the Seven Kingdoms before Aegon the Conqueror ever set foot in them had caught your eye, Lady Alysanne, and the Magister thought it would be agreeable for you to have a reminder of your homelands while you stay here.”

  Sansa couldn’t hide her grin. “You were right, Urroc. Thank you for it, and I shall praise the Magister’s consideration when we see him at dinner.”

  Arman hadn’t met them at the door when they arrived. Just as before, Urroc greeted them, apologizing for his master’s absence and claiming that Magister Nervere had various appointments today, but would gladly meet them for dinner. He had also sent word that after they had settled in their chambers, they were free to explore the house at their pleasure.

  A large square table was in the middle of the living room, with a pair of comfortable looking chairs on each side, where one could eat or talk or read or play games. There was also a large fireplace in the room, a beautiful harp with a smooth carved wooden surface Sansa couldn’t help but run her fingers down, and a tall bookshelf housing hundreds of books with thick spines and old-looking, but well-kept scrolls.

  The sound of someone calling, “Urroc!” in a loud, shrill voice made Sansa turn around and see that behind her a beautiful blue and yellow parrot with a red beak was looking at them with little black eyes, from inside a pink cage as tall as she was.

  “Ah, I forgot to introduce you to the Magister’s trained bird, Muku. He is from the Summer Isles and can say words in three different tongues. Muku, tell the nice lady and her sworn shield how pleased you are to meet them and I will give you a cookie.”

  “Nice to meet you!” Muku said, walking from one side of his cage to the other, wings ruffling. “Nice to meet you!”

  The sight of the caged bird made Sansa feel sick. She saw from the corner of her eye Sandor looking at her, and she knew they both were thinking the same thing.  _It shouldn’t affect me so_ , _but it does_. The sight of this beautiful trapped being, made to chirp on command for a treat, reminded her too much of herself when she had been forced to chirp her pretty lies to Joffrey if she expected to live another day without a new bruise on her skin.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Take the bird away.”

  “My lady?” Urroc asked, bewildered. “Is Muku not to your liking or–?”

  “You heard the girl,” Sandor growled, scowling at the steward. “How can you expect her to sleep with a bloody bird calling out for you in the middle of the night? I bet he wants to be with his wet-nurse, so take him to your rooms, why don’t you?”

  “It’s all right,” she told Sandor, placing her hand lightly on his arm for a moment. “I am sure Urroc thought it would be a nice decoration for the room.”

_That’s what the poor bird is for, after all, decoration. And that’s what I was supposed to do at Joff’s court: decorate it by looking pretty, and pleasing him by saying what I was expected to say._ Urroc called for some guards to take Muku and his cage away.

  The bedchamber had the biggest bed Sansa had ever seen, where ten people could fit perfectly well, and it had satin sheets and fur blankets, cushioned with goose-feather pillows. _How long has it been since I’ve slept in a bed like that? Oh, how I’ve missed goose-feather pillows!_ Beside the bed, there was a tall wardrobe where she was expected to put her three gowns (plus her nightgown and robe), and a vanity table with a mirror framed in pure gold. The table had a vase with flowers, brushes and combs with ivory handles, pots of powder, scented oils, laces, ribbons, clips for her hair, and everything she could possibly need to make up for the plain dress she would wear at the ball. In a corner, both the chamber pot and washing table had been placed, and everywhere she looked silver candleholders had been accommodated to light up the room when night fell and the moon and the stars came out.

  Sandor grabbed the ceramic flagon of wine a servant brought in, which he’d ordered as soon as they arrived, while Sansa took a glass of water in a jeweled cup. A platter with grapes, olives, bread, goat cheese, and raisins for a sweet had also been brought up.

  “Outside in the garden you will find a pool and a view of both the High City and the Low, as well as of the lands beyond.”

  “The Magister is too kind,” Sansa told Urroc, before adding in reproach. “Surely it would be best if he gave these rooms to another of the magisters of Great Norvos, or–?”

  “All the magisters of the city have their own houses to return to, my lady. As Magister Nervere’s honored guests, you are clearly entitled to these rooms.”

_Yes, but why does he take so much care to please his honored guests_? Sansa wanted to know. She stepped outside to the terraced garden through a pair of glass doors, and was delighted to see a fragrant pool, a fountain, some skinny trees with limbs decorated with flowers, birds and leaves, and a balustrade encircling the garden.

  Sensing Sandor behind her, Sansa walked over to the edge of the terrace, stepping off of the little path of bricks and onto the grass, rested her hands on the carved stone balustrade and made herself peer over the edge.

  “Oh, look, Edric!” she said, wistfully looking at the world below her.

  Since Arman’s manor was near the top of the mountain, and her rooms were on the seventh and last floor, she had the world before her. She could see the High City with its towers and houses, a hundred feet below her, though it was covered in mist and fog, and further down the mountain at its very foot was the Low City, its buildings and streets barely distinguishable at this distance. They appeared as small as children’s toys, and thus it was impossible for the nearby forests, rivers and fields to be more than little ribbons and bushes to her eyes. Before her, the surroundings were the Hills of Norvos that encircled the city, their peaks blocking out from view clouds and the world beyond. The wind was blowing fiercely up here, but the view made her forger that in a heartbeat.

  “Nice view,” Sandor admitted, his hand closing around her arm to draw her back a bit from the balustrade in caution, as she felt a cold gust of wind blow up her legs. “Just make sure you remember you don’t have wings to fly away from here, little bird.”

  “Nor the strength to carry you along with me,” she consented. “I guess we will just have to tolerate this stay.”

  “I guess we will.”

  “Lady Alysanne?” Urroc said, stepping outside into the garden.

  Sansa turned away from the view to look at the bald steward. He had a tray with a couple of tiny earplugs in his hands.

  “Yes?” she asked, curious.

  “Since the temple of the Bearded Priests is near this house at the top of the Daughter Noyne, those who live in the High City often sleep with earplugs to avoid being woken up when the priests sound the bells of Norvos. I have some for you and your companion.”

  “Seven hells,” Sandor roared. “I have been living in this bloody city and waking up twice each night, at midnight and dawn with no idea of these things!”

  Sansa laughed. “Could we take them with us when we leave, please?”

  Urroc look awkwardly at Sandor, and nodded. “Yes, of course, my lady. As many as you like.”

  Then they went to see Sandor’s rooms down the hall. His didn’t have a living room, but the bedroom was spacious, and had fine furniture and a bed nearly as big as Sansa’s. Its walls were plain but for a couple of windows, and though there wasn’t a garden, there was a large golden tub that could fit in two men as large as Sandor, and which drew a laugh from him. He said he liked the room well enough when she asked him what he thought of it, and supposed that was a good thing. When they left the bag of clothes Sandor had brought with him on the bed, Urroc took them all around the manor, telling them the history of the place and from which faraway places Arman Nervere had procured the furniture to adorn it.

  After Urroc left them, and while they ate their meal (honey duck with orange, snap peppers, flatbread, honeyed and red wine, and exotic fruits), she and Sandor began walking around the house on their own. Sansa thought it funny that they had prepared themselves for two whole days in Magister Nervere’s company, with barely any private moments between them, yet the afternoon was nearly gone and they hadn’t had any sight of their host.

  Sansa had resigned herself to have Sandor only as her sworn shield for today, tomorrow and the day after that, but so far, things weren’t so very different between them than when they were in the company of other people. _I guess Sandor will only open up when I am the only one in the room. We will only ever be able to really talk and let our minds be known when we are alone, whether we are here or in Pentos, White Harbor or Winterfell_.

  As the afternoon wore away, Sansa thought it best to retire so she could have time to take a bath and make herself pretty for dinner. When Sandor left her at the entrance to her apartments, he said he would also try the large tub in his room and would be back later.

  “You’re all right?” he asked her, grabbing her chin and forcing her face to look up at him, before she stepped inside her rooms. “That business with the bloody parrot–”

  “I am all right,” Sansa assured him, kindly. She squeezed the hand that held her chin as his thumb brushed her high cheekbone and jaw, before saying, “I knew you would understand that.”

  Sandor gave a short nod. “It’s like you understood me last night with the damnable fireplace.”

  “It is,” she told him, and he left her there.

   _I think I’m going to take a swim in that pool_ , Sansa thought, smiling as she closed her front door. Before that, she headed for the wardrobe to choose which one of the simple gowns she had brought with her would be the best to wear tonight, but stopped when she noticed that a plump girl a little older than her was already hanging her clothes in the wardrobe.

  Sansa didn’t feel like taking a relaxing bath with a handmaiden around, so she kindly asked the girl to return an hour after dusk so she could help her with her hair and such. Maybe she wouldn’t have minded having company if Frema was with her instead of this girl, who was pleasant, but a stranger nonetheless.

  Shaking her head at the memory of the afternoon some days ago when she and Frema had spent hours trying to decide which gowns would look best on them at the ball, and at how happy Vintos and Frema had been this morning as they bid their farewells, excitedly telling them that the next time they saw each other it would be at the ball, Sansa sat down on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through the smooth light fabric of her satin sheets, watching the maid go away.

  She rested against the soft mattress and must have dozed off for a little while, because the next thing she knew was the high-pitched sound _Nyel_ made; the bell that announced dusk startled her into a sitting position.

  Sighing in contentment, she thought that those earplugs would indeed be necessary up here, and imagining Sandor’s reaction as he was bathing and heard the bell, too, she ended up giggling.

  But wondering about that turned out to be not a very wise decision, for the thought of Sandor taking a bath just down the hall sent a pleasant shiver down Sansa’s back. A burning feeling was suddenly between her legs, and Sansa placed her hand below her belly, afraid at the unknown sensations within her, but excited all the same. Now that she had spoken with Frema, Sansa knew what was happening to her, and remembering the feeling of Sandor caressing her cheekbone earlier, she suddenly longed to have his hand on the spot below her belly instead of her own.

  _Don’t think about that now, Sansa_ , she reprimanded herself as she stood up and began to unbutton her dress. When her gown and her smallclothes lay in a pile on the floor at her feet, she walked over to the wardrobe and covered her nakedness with her robe. Padding barefooted across the room, feeling the cold marble beneath her, she slipped outside to the terraced garden, peeking about to make sure that no one could possibly be looking in her direction.

  No one seemed to be doing as far as she could see, so Sansa stepped into the garden, feeling the grass between her toes, and marveling at the sunset before her, and at the way that it threw the sky into a kaleidoscope of colors: from pink to purple, maroon to gold, and pearl to saffron, all the while darkening as the sun set behind the mountains.

  Wondering how on earth she had ended up in this beautiful place, hidden deep inside the Hills of Norvos, Sansa unbelted the tie about her waist and let her robe fall to the ground beside the pool. Sitting at the edge of it, she dipped her foot quickly in its waters and smiled when she felt it was warm. Little fishes swam away as she put her long legs inside the sparkling water, and sat there for a moment, hearing the birds in the trees sing and the tinkling sound the water falling in the fountain made to announce another dying sunset.

  _That’s how birds should live_ , she thought, remembering the parrot in the cage from earlier today as she put her long hair across one shoulder. _They should be free to come and go when they please, and fly wherever they choose to, and sing whatever songs they desire_.

  Sansa laughed as the little fishes began to nibble at her legs and feet, and breathing in the cool clean air that could only be found this high up in the world, she began to lower herself into the pool.

  After a few swims along the length of it, Sansa discovered a sort of marble seat carved into the pool that allowed her to sit down inside the warm water, and she sighed happily, remembering the hot springs in Winterfell’s godswood.

  When she was a little girl, Sansa recalled, she had enjoyed swimming with her siblings in the hot murky waters, but as she grew up it was out of the question, of course, that she could join Robb, Jon, Bran, Theon and even baby Rickon in their trips to the godswood when they swam as naked as their namedays.

  _It would be wonderful to rest here for the remainder of the day_ , she thought as she closed her eyes. _And even more so if Sandor could be here with me._ _Or even better, if we were back at Winterfell and could spend an afternoon in the godswood together, in the exact same way my brothers used to do..._

***

 

  Sandor decided that he liked this golden tub. After the bath the little bird had prepared for him on the morning of their namedays, he was starting to enjoy things like this. The water was ten times warmer than the one Medra’s twins back at the inn filled their baths with, and the brush they had left for him allowed him to scrub his back, and other places that were hard to reach otherwise. 

  _Fucking prick_ , he thought as he rinsed his hair. _At least, he hasn’t showed his arse near us so far_. If only this wasn’t Nervere’s house, Sandor would probably be enjoying staying here with Sansa, but for that incident with the buggering caged bird. _Idiots, thinking Sansa would be impressed by it_.

  But it was a good thing to see the little bird so happy, and at least it justified his decision of giving in about coming here in case he forgot why he had agreed into this.

  When he was done with the bath, Sandor put on a pair of smallclothes, breeches, tunic, leather jerkin, boots, along with his new sword belt and scabbard. He would have felt better wearing a mail shirt, but it would be out of place for this bloody dinner with Arman Nervere. Stepping outside into the hallway he shared with the little bird, Sandor thought it odd that there were no guards or servants in the halls, unlike in the keeps or castles in Westeros, where at every corner you came upon a man standing guard, sword in their belts. _They only use their precious guards with axes outside in the streets to impress_. 

  Sandor reached Sansa’s chambers in a few long strides and opened the door. When he stepped inside, he instantly registered that no one was in the living room, not even the little bird.

  “Alys?” he said, calling her by her false name. They may not be in the Red Keep, but that didn’t mean little birds couldn’t be spying on them, ready to report to Nervere.

  Walking over to Sansa’s bedroom, his eyes fell curiously on the pile of discarded clothes by the foot of the bed, and then he stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes glanced outside. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

  The world stopped there and then.

  Sandor couldn’t even think straight for a moment, he blinked several times and even drew a sharp little intake of breath. _Oh, gods_ , he thought dizzily, registering some birds outside chirping nosily. _Is this for real?_ Could that perfect woman really be his little bird? And by what he could see, she was the most precious thing he could ever remember looking at.

  Sandor stood there staring at Sansa, taking in every curve of her body; at the way her shoulder blades became prominent when she leaned back, pushing her shoulders backwards, or at the way her long auburn hair brushed against her hips or back as it managed to cover her small waist due to its length. The day’s fading light did not take away any beauty on the scene before him, and it wasn’t because of the terraced garden outside that Sandor would be relishing this moment forever, but for the way the long enticing sight the little bird was.

  _Fuck_ , _and I’m only seeing her from behind_ , his addled mind gathered. _What would it be like if she was meant for me? If I could make her mine and be with her forever?_ It was so strange to think about such promises, considering that he had never even dared to hope he would make a woman want him for long, and certainly not someone as beautiful as Sansa Stark. Yet this was his little bird, and that changed everything, he wanted to believe. This was the same Sansa who had tried to kiss him in several occasions, and who had treated him with so much of her damned courtesy and friendship that he was starting to remember what it was like to be loved. The echoes of his childhood, when his grandfather, sister and mother had cared for him, were not so forgotten after all.

_If only I could stand a chance of her wanting to be with me forever–to be sure she knew she felt something for me that was not going to fade, or change once we were in Westeros and she returned to her family and met someone whom she actually fell in love with_. The only good thing he could gather about that was that sodding magister was certainly not going to be that man, seeing as how put out he made Sansa feel.

_If it were me, it could be different_ , he dared think. Sandor would try his best to make Sansa enjoy being with him, caring not only for his needs but for hers, and for her to relish in their lovemaking forever. _Bloody hells, what’s happening to me? Why does she affect me so?_

  Sandor has seen women’s bare backs before–and even more than that, yet he had never felt a thing for any of them, and certainly not what he was feeling now as he saw Sansa move a little bit, leaning over to touch the surface of the water in the pool, giving Sandor a quick glance at the soft swell of her right breast before she absentmindedly caressed it with her hand.

  He could feel his desire coming on him, yet he knew going away from such beauty and purity was going to be difficult. _Bugger_ , he thought, as his mouth began to twitch. Sandor could actually feel an ache in his chest because he could not simple walk up to where she was, and take her in his arms and kiss her and more. _It’s been so long that we’ve been together, and it is only getting more difficult as the days go by to stop myself from doing something she may very well end up regretting_.

  It was getting hard to try and think straight _._ Sandor may want her and may love her, but he could not ruin her or take advantage of her innocence. _Unless she wanted me for a partner, I could never force a hand against her will just to please me. Fuck, she may not even take it kindly to me staring at her like this–like a bloody idiot who has never seen a sight like this_. Only he hadn’t; not really. And he was never supposed to do so. This was invading the little bird’s privacy.

  _Leave now, before she turns around and sees you here_ , his mind warned him from somewhere deep inside him, as the tightness in his breeches increased. _Don’t you dare walk to her, unless you want to ruin things between the two of you when you don’t even know how you stand in this specific bloody ground._ Sandor turned around and headed for the door, feeling a desperate need to breathe as he realized his limbs were numb, from his long legs to his wide arms. He felt trapped in this room, unable to do or say anything to let the one person he cared about know that he was struggling against himself like he had never done before.

  Sandor stepped outside Sansa’s room, and closed the door before he leaned against the wall. After a long moment of silence, he gathered that he was once again feeling better, as he realized that admiring her like he has was bound to complicate things between them _. And yet, she has become so familiar that I simply want more from her–I want all of her_. _All she is willing to give me and take from me._

  What he had just seen ought to make him feel miserable because he may never have another moment like it, he gathered as he brushed his hand across his face in bewilderment. For if he did, it would probably be a stolen one in which Sansa wasn’t even aware he was watching her, but it had felt so right to see her like that, in a moment when she had just been sitting there by the pool, her long legs inside the water, and Sandor didn’t even mind much that he hadn’t caught sight of more of her.

  He decided he was past the point of behaving as if nothing had happened. _I won’t shy away from what I just saw. She is bloody perfect and I won’t regret what has just happened, for I have been able to control myself around her for months and months._

  After a very long time passed, and he deemed it safe to step into those rooms again, Sandor knocked loudly and long on the door to her bedroom and gave a sigh of relief when, after a moment, he heard the little bird call in High Valyrian, “Wait a moment, please.”

  Gulping, Sandor walked into the rooms he had just quitted some moments ago, and locked the front door after Sansa opened the door for him. She was wearing her robe now, he noticed, as his eyes took in the sight of her wet hair, and of the water droplets running down her face, neck and hands.

  Sandor watched the little bird with a grin, gazing at her without shame; at the way she blushed and stammered. She bit her lip, looked quickly at her feet, then at his feet and finally met his eyes, saying, “I… I didn’t realize I took so long. I… I was bathing.”

  _And even if I hadn’t seen you about to do so, it would have been obvious_. “I can see that. Did you enjoy it?”

  She nodded, smiling shyly at him. “Yes. Oh, Sandor, it’s so lovely up here.”

_Not as fucking lovely as you_. The water drops hanging from her lashes, hair, nose and chin were driving him almost as mad as the sight of her startlingly blue eyes staring with something akin to desire at the opening of his tunic near his collarbone.

  Sansa went over to sit in the living room, in one of the chairs at the large square table. He took the seat beside hers.

  “This place really does bring into sharp contrast the fact that your winnings from the tourney won’t last us forever,” she said, watching him pour a cup of red wine for her and then for himself. 

  Sandor knew what she was getting at. “I won’t let you pawn your jewels, little bird.”

  The little bird threw him a look that reminded him of the wolf that was inside her. “I wasn’t going to say that! But if I was, I don’t see why you would be opposed to me selling the jewels the Lannisters gave me.”

  “ _Alys_ ,” he said, pointedly, feeling that the magic from everything that had happened moments ago was rapidly fading as they entered the practical side of life. “I won forty thousand dragons that day–”

  “Yes, but we’ve been traveling for months now,  and–”

  “And we are still far from seeing the last of that gold.”

  But she wouldn’t listen.

  “I’ve known about ladies who are forced to sell their embroidery or their cooking out of necessity, and it does not dishonor them one bit, you know. I’ve wanted to talk to you about this for some days now. The man who owns the weavers shop where Vintos worked saw my embroidery the other day, and said I had great talent for it. He can pay me well each week if I manage to sell my work.”

  This was the first time Sandor had heard of this working idea, and he knew instantly that those buggering fools he had for neighbors were to blame. After Sansa had talked to him for half an hour, though, in nothing but what he gathered was that wet robe, he was surprised at himself for carrying on a conversation while his mind toyed with the possibility of how it would be like to run his hand down her robe.

  Amidst the dizzy haze this knowledge sent him to, he had to admit that it wasn’t anything degrading that could shame the Starks, or more importantly Sansa, if word were to spread somehow of what she did when they were back home. It wouldn’t be wise to reject any earnings that they could somehow gain, since they were still going to need to buy their passages on the ship that would carry them home. What bothered Sandor was that Sansa would be working while he wasn’t. _Maybe I can ask Burnek the blacksmith to let me work with him a couple of hours each day for a wage_.

  But he would have to wait until they returned to the Low City the day after tomorrow for that to be settled. Sighing deeply as he resigned himself to the fact that life and problems couldn’t be forgotten just because he had gazed at the purest person in the world, Sandor walked over to the doors that connected the terraced garden to the bedroom, and stood there gazing at the darkening horizon that was today’s sunset.

  Some moments passed before he heard Sansa standing up from the living room, and then in a couple of heartbeats, Sandor felt the little bird standing behind him, and then her long white arms encircled his waist in a tight embrace; as she hugged him from behind, she rested her head against his broad muscled back. His hands came up to hold hers, and they stayed like that for a time, swaying slightly where they stood. It almost felt for a moment as if nothing could ever break them or tear them apart.

  “Sandor?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m going to miss you tonight when I go to sleep, you know.”

  Sandor’s heart and insides clenched tightly. “Me, too, little bird. It’s going to be hard for me, too.” _More than you can imagine._

They pressed their bodies closer to each other for a quick moment, before Sansa asked him, “Do you think that Arman would continue to seek our company if he knew we slept in the same bed?”

_Fuck me, but you’re right!_ Nervere probably didn’t suspect they did, and if he somehow knew about it, then his continual desire to be with Sansa could only mean that he knew nothing really happened between them in bed at nights. Maybe it was someone at the _Three Bells Inn_ who informed that sodding magister about how matters stood between Sansa and him. “Seven hells, bugger me if I know.”

  “I–” the little bird began, but stopped when there was a discrete knock on the door.

  Quickly letting go of each other, Sandor went to open the door after Sansa had grabbed a hairbrush from her bedroom, walking over to sit as casually as she could at the table, trying hard to look composed.

  Sandor jerked the door open and swore when he saw a bunch of maids dressed in identical outfits walk past him into the room, boxes in their hands.

  He closed the door, peering about the hallway first to make sure no more scrawny handmaidens were coming, and counted about eight women in the room, all of whom were trying hard not to stare at his face. Sandor growled a low menacing curse at the nearest one, and sent her scurrying to the other side of the room. If the shrewdest of them was wondering why Lady Alysanne was wearing nothing but a robe to cover herself while he was in the room, he would never know.

  “Hello, everyone,” Sansa told them, trying hard not to laugh at his expression and behavior. “I’m Alysanne, and this is Edric.”

  A plump girl stepped forward while her companions bowed low to them. “We are sorry for disturbing you, my lady, but you did say that I should return an hour after dusk.”

  “So I did, but pray tell me why did you bring so many handmaidens back with you? And what’s in all those boxes?”

  “They are gifts from the High Magister, my lady. He instructed us to bring you as many options as we could carry, so you could have your pick of what to wear tomorrow at the ball.”

  “You have to be bloody kidding me,” he rasped in the Common Tongue at the same time that Sansa met his eyes and said, “Gods be good! You are telling me that Magister Nervere actually took so much trouble just for me?”

  All the girls nodded at the same time, and began to unpack the fabrics within the boxes. A couple of them began to move about the room, lighting the fireplace and all the silver candleholders since the room was getting darker.

  Sansa frowned, looking uncertain for a moment. Then she said, “I shall thank the magister for his thoughtful considerations tonight at dinner. I am sure that some of you will be kind enough to help me prepare myself tomorrow for the event, but for now if you would please excuse me, I have to change for tonight and can manage on my own.”

  The servants bowed again and hurried from the room, and Sandor, with a reluctant heavy heart, followed them, telling Sansa, “I’ll guard the door.”

  “You won’t have to wait long. I’ll be as quick as I can,” she said.

  Sandor shrugged. “Take as long as you like. I’d rather wait on you that on the lions any day. And I am in rush to go to dinner with our gracious host,” he assured her, in jest.

  Sansa giggled. “No more than I am, but I doubt you’ll say that tomorrow night when I take a much longer time to get ready for the ball.”

  Sandor snorted and rolled his eyes at her before he closed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Reviews are love! <3 Hope you liked this chapter! :D


	20. Edric & Alysane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)   
> *The great betas who help me out with this are: onborrowedwings, gingerbeer48, nysandra & swiftsnowmane :D  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.

  Once Sandor had closed the door behind him, Sansa went to the large square table where the wealth of Arman’s gifts awaited her. She approached them with a wary feeling, and a long moment passed before she would actually touch them. Her eyes roamed over the beautiful silks, satins and expensive Turrani cotton; the sparkling jewels and thin veils, masks and feathers; shoes with heels and broad belts that would cover up her waist as thoroughly as Sandor’s hands did whenever he helped her off Nan.

  _They are so beautiful_ , she thought as she brought the finest silk that gold could buy against her cheek to feel the smooth soft light fabric. As much as she tried, she could not shake off the feeling of apprehension that accepting all of this would mean. But had to admit she was a bit tired of dressing drably. _I’ve longed to wear such fashionable items ever since we first arrived here._ She had meant to wear the gown she had celebrated her nameday and Sandor’s in tomorrow at the ball, which was still the most beautiful she owned, even if it had some water stains from the rain they had been caught in that had not disappeared. _I will only wear one of these gowns for the ball_ , she decided. _I’ll tell Arman that he should stop giving me so much, and won’t care about whether he takes it as an insult_. _It’s his fault for trying to dress me up._

  Searching amongst the gifts and discovering that all the dresses were cut in after the Norvoshi fashion–that is, with the back, shoulders and arms bare–she smiled, imagining the way she would look, but most particularly, the way Sandor would look at her. _He will find me pretty_. _Why, he couldn’t take his eyes off me moments ago when I was straight out of the pool. Surely he would prefer me wearing silks and velvets as I shall be tomorrow night?_ Yet Frema had told Sansa that men usually preferred their women naked. Blushing fiercely, she thought, _Oh, gods, I don’t know myself at times these days._

  It was a battle of the mind and the heart what assaulted Sansa Stark. She felt exactly like she always had when she was little and her mother or septa had caught her doing some mischief, like hitting baby Arya after she lost her favorite doll, or not listening to her septa as she instructed her on figures and sums. This was ten times worse, of course, because she was a lady and had nonetheless relished every moment of him devouring her with his grey eyes _. If I was wet on our namedays after it started to rain, I am soaked now_ , she gathered, glancing down at how the robe clung tightly to her breasts and body. She threw her dripping wet hair behind her shoulders and shivered, hugging herself. _Thank goodness I had already put on my smallclothes before he knocked on the door._

  She bit her lip; she let her mind wonder at how exciting it would have been had Sandor not knocked and instead caught her bathing. She sighed at that, because it was more likely Sandor would tell her some compliment tomorrow night before the ball about the way she looked, rather than entering a room while she was taking a bath. Sansa pushed these lustful thoughts and regrets and might-have-beens to the back of her mind, and stared at the dresses before her once more.

  The ones that gave her pause were a purple silk, another of dark blue velvet slashed with silver that would awaken all of the color in her eyes, and one of a color she would describe as similar to ashes of roses, which would complement her auburn curls.

  Sansa sighed. She still had a day more to decide what she would wear for the ball. _Right now, I have to dress for dinner._ Heading to her wardrobe without a second glance at the gifts from the High Magister, Sansa’s eye was caught by a simply cut lambswool yellow gown, lined with vair. Frema and Vintos had given it to her for her nameday, and it was modest and becoming. She still had some of the jewelry she’d carried all the way from King’s Landing, but she had not brought them because she preferred to sell them instead of wearing them–like she had told Sandor moments ago. _He is such a silly man. There is nothing dishonorable in selling embroidery._ Sansa remembered her meeting with the owner of the weaver’s shop some days ago, and how happy he had been with her work, making her feel proud of herself. As she heard the man tell her she would get well-paid for her embroidery, Sansa had smiled at the thought of bringing food to the home she shared with Sandor from her income. _He doesn’t have to do everything himself._ _He has to understand that I am doing this for us._ _Even if Joff hadn’t given me those necklaces_ , _I wouldn’t wear such ostentatious gemstones these days_. So she wore only a simple velvet ribbon in sky blue. She slid her arms into her gown, before brushing and pinning her hair without any regrets. _The time for dressing as befits the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Tully hasn’t yet arrived. I can wait_.

  Feeling as ready as she would ever be for a long night with their host, Sansa Stark donned her smile and went to the door to meet Sandor. As she opened it, she saw Sandor stepping away from her door, wearing his usual scowl, but even as his eye met hers, Sansa saw him tense and his features shifted to a momentary emotion strange to him _. If I didn’t know better, I would think that the way he has been looking at me since I left my bath was somehow different than before._

“Why so sadface? Are you not ready for our little ordeal?” she asked him, trying hard not to think about what that stare could mean. Just thinking about it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even though he wasn’t even touching her.

  Sandor wasn’t amused. “Not bloody likely.”

  Sansa smiled, touched his arm for a moment and shook her head, sighing. “Neither am I, but we are running late.”

  Since she knew that Sandor was regretfully intent on acting the sworn shield tonight, Sansa began to walk down the long marble floor alone, with Sandor’s heavy strides echoing behind her a heartbeat later. As they reached a flight of stairs, Sansa stopped a moment to gather the hem of her long skirts in one hand, in order to avoid tripping over them and making a fool of herself.

  But just as she was about to take the first step, Sandor stepped beside her and grabbed her firmly by the elbow. “Careful.”

  Sansa looked up at him quickly. His grey eyes were a storm of emotions that she could not quite place, but she did see concern as being one of them. Over the long month of living with him in Essos, she had come to recognize Sandor’s subtle outburst of courtesies, which he always tried to hide with his gruff demeanor, and helping her down the stairs was one of them.

  “Thank you,” she told him, softly, remembering that falling down the stairs had killed Sandor’s sister after their horrible brother struck her across the face. He led her down the flight of stairs, only to let go the moment they reached the floor. They continued on their way through the labyrinth that Magister Nervere’s manse was, and when Sansa began to wonder if they hadn’t misunderstood Urroc’s directions and had gotten lost, they encountered Arman’s bald steward, who led them over to a solar where Urroc told them the High Magister awaited them.

  They found Arman sitting alone at a small table in a big elegant room, lost in thought as he stared at some sort of game with ten little pieces on its board. Sansa noticed that a scroll and a quill lay discarded on the seat before his, where his opponent ought to have been seated if there only had been one.

  “Magister,” Urroc said, announcing their presence. “Here is the Lady Alysanne and her sworn shield.”

  Arman Nervere quickly turned his handsome face in their direction. The moment his eyes saw her, Sansa noticed that the frown on his forehead vanished, and his beautiful sapphire blue eyes sparkled instantly. It was actually nice to see that the sight of her could stop whatever was troubling him in a way. She felt the color rising to her cheeks and lowered her eyes as she stepped closer to Sandor.

  “My dear lady!” Arman said, sliding in three smooth moves over to them and bowing that ridiculously low bow of his before he kissed her hand. “And Edric, welcome once more to my home! I am so glad to see you again looking well. I trust you’ve been taken good care of?”

  Sandor didn’t say anything, and Sansa only smiled at Arman, nodding, before the Magister went on.

  “When I heard that you were coming I knew that R’hllor had heard my prayers. I am sorry for not having had any time this past week to pay you a visit sooner at _The Three Bells Inn,_ or for not receiving you when you arrived this afternoon, but my duties with the council and the city have kept me occupied, as well as the preparations for the ball.”

“I am quite certain that tomorrow will turn out to be a wonderful event, Arman,” Sansa assured him, as she remembered she wanted to talk to him about his gifts to her. “I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for not only inviting us to it, but for being such a generous host. The chambers we were put in are very agreeable, and that gesture of placing the tapestry of Westeros in mine was very thoughtful.”

  Arman looked over at his steward leaving the room with a humble laugh, as he stroked his cleft chin with his long elegant fingers. “I am relieved to hear you like it. Urroc told me about that incident with Muku, my parrot. I want to apologize. I could never have imagined that it could upset you so.”

  Sandor snorted beside her. “Of course you didn’t. You keep an animal menagerie as well, and you don’t seem to mind about keeping _them_ in cages they don’t belong in, so why would a buggering parrot make any difference?”

  “Yes. Well, regardless of the bird,” she put in, trying to intervene before the men started crossing words with each other, and because talking about the caged bird was unpleasant to her. “I wanted to say that you should not have sent me all those gifts earlier.”

  Arman looked concerned. “Were they not to your taste?”

  _How could they not be?_ she wondered, before it dawned on her that he didn’t understand her. “It is not a matter of whether I _liked_ them or not, Arman. The gowns and jewelry and everything else are exquisite, but you shouldn’t give me anything. I am quite content with your friendship and, yes, honored that you invited us here. But, please, there is no need for you to give them to me.”

  Arman laughed at her.

  “And why is that so fucking funny?” Sandor said, and his voice sounded like two wood saws grinding together.

  “My friends, I am so sorry. I apologize if my gifts offended you, Alys, but if I send them to you it was because here in Norvos it is traditional that a host should send a gift to a lady of importance when they are staying at his or her house.”

  “Oh,” Sansa exclaimed, a bit surprised, trying to gather her control. It was a bit distressing that every time she tried to tell Arman something, he would have a reasonable excuse that would make her give in to his actions.

 “I–I did not know that,” was the only thing she could stammer.

  “I am sorry for not sending you a message to clarify the purpose behind the gifts,” Arman said before Sandor interrupted him by asking, “This tradition of yours is to send one gift. Why then did you send more than one?”

  Arman’s eyes met Sandor’s as he replied, “There is a reason for that as well. After our conversation the other day, Alysanne, I thought that you would be more comfortable at the ball tomorrow with a gown in the Norvoshi fashion, and by sending you different gowns you would have more options to choose from.”

  Sandor looked at Arman with growing impatience, and said, “I don’t care how they do things in this city, but where we come from–giving a lady a gift or two hundred, when she is staying under your sodding roof, can only damage her reputation.”

  “I will be wearing one of them tomorrow, because I do not wish to shame you by not wearing a gown so fine as the other guests and your friends will wear,” Sansa informed Arman. “But I shall return all of the other presents to you. I am not from this city, so I will insist on it due to what I was taught is acceptable and what is not.”

  She expected him to protest, but instead Arman only said, “You could never do anything to shame me, Alys. But if you insist, this will not happen again. As your friend here says, to you it may have seemed disrespectful, but believe me, I have no intention of dishonoring such a high and noble lady’s honor and reputation.”

  “I thank you,” she told him, growing uneasy with the conversation. _Does he know the Mallisters are not considered among_ the _most_ _honorable houses in Westeros? After all, they serve my grandfather Hoster, yet the way Arman speaks sounds as if they were as high as House Stark_. Her eyes fell on the game on the table that Arman had been staring at when they entered the room, and she asked eagerly, to let go of the previous topic at hand, “What game is that? When we walked into the room you were quite drawn into it.”

  Magister Nervere looked down at the game and laughed. “It’s cyvasse. Haven’t you ever seen it before being played on the streets?”

  She shook her head, and turned to look Sandor, who only gave the game the briefest of glances before his eyes fell right back on Arman. He shifted his heavy weight from one leg to the other, clearly getting bored. Sansa wondered then if he liked to play games.

  “It’s quite entertaining, I assure you. Would you like to learn how it’s played?”

  Sansa did like to play games herself, but had a feeling cyvasse was going to be a bit complicated just by looking at all the little elephants and dragons, to name some of the pieces. _He could be here all night teaching me to play_. So she quickly replied, “Some other time, perhaps.” Her belly made a convenient grumble as Sandor said, “Bugger that game. Weren’t we supposed to be having a bloody dinner? Let’s get on with it. the faster we get it done, the better.”

  Arman laughed again, making Sansa wonder _how_ he could find Sandor’s remark funny.

  “I have been neglectful of my guests’ needs. You must be hungry. Please, follow me,” he said, clapping his hands. A moment later, a servant stepped through the door and was asked if dinner was ready.

  “It is, High Magister,” the servant answered, bowing.

  Sandor and Sansa exchanged a look. It was clear from his expression and cynical smile that Sandor was irritated already.

  Arman led them through a door that connected the solar to a dining room with a terrace. Sansa’s eyes fell on the long table to find it empty. _Where are we having dinner?_ she wondered, as Arman walked around and away from the table. He stepped outside onto the terrace, and looked back at them.

 “I thought it would be pleasant to have supper outside.”

  “Oh, of course,” said Sansa out loud, as Sandor rasped under his breath, “Who the fuck cares? Why does he have to explain the reasons for _every_ bloody thing he does?”

  Shaking his head, Sandor followed her outside. There was a very low table and no chairs on the terrace. Instead, they would be compelled to eat their dinner sitting on large squashy differently colored pillows on the marble floor. Half a hundred lanterns lit up the place in a golden haze, which threw constantly shifting shadows across them as the servants came and went.

  Sandor ordered some Dornish wine, while she preferred an Arbor vintage, and Arman a sweet sharp wine from Qarth.

  She knelt on a comfortable-looking red pillow, and smoothed her skirts waiting for their dinner to arrive, trying to think of polite conversation. _We may as well spend tonight learning about who Arman is, if we seem destined to suffer him throughout our stay in Norvos_.

  “Arman, I remember Medra, our innkeeper, telling us that your father was elected a Triarch of the city of Volantis for four years. Was he not Norvoshi, or how is it that he accomplished that?” Sansa asked him.

  “My father was indeed from Volantis,” he told her. “And only those who can trace their family back to Valyria can be a Triarch. The Nerveres are among those families. He was elected by the Tigers–the old blood. There is also the party of the Elephants, who are tradesmen. I believe the current Triarchs are Malaquo for the Tigers, and Nyessos and Doniphos for the Elephants.”

  _And you probably have them all in your pocket_ , she thought, remembering how influential he was as she watched the servants bring them their wines. The food followed shortly after; the first course was a light salad of sweetgrass and plums, with crushed nuts to give it a special flavor.

  “Your lady mother is from Norvos, is she not? Couldn’t you tell us a little bit about how your parents met?”

  Arman looked thoughtful for a moment before he said, “In the same manner that the nobility of the Free Cities have done for centuries upon centuries. They make treaties and alliances and intermarry”

  “It isn’t so different in the Seven Kingdoms, you know,” Sansa pointed out.

  “Yes, to be sure. In Westeros, Tullys marry Lannisters, and Baratheons marry Tyrells,” Arman consented as they started on the second course: a creamy chestnut soup, with some crusty hot bread, and greens dressed in apples and pine nuts. “There are exceptions, of course, here in Essos. My aunt Mellario is one, when she married the Prince of Dorne. And my father’s half-cousin had a natural daughter called Nymeria Sand with Prince Doran’s brother, Oberyn Martell. They were the wise ones, I believe. Our ancestors cling to the old ways in regards to whom will they marry, believing foreign blood to be unworthy of entering their houses.”

  At that, her tummy twisted into a tight knot as Arman revealed he had yet _another_ connection to the Martells _. No, please, not again_. Sansa had heard dreadful tales of

Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne, and the Mountain that Rides had killed his sister. _If he were to come here and see Sandor_ … she didn’t even want to finish that thought. She could feel Sandor’s eyes on her, making her more self-conscious of her moves. She wanted to hold his hand, so he could re-assure him that nothing would happen to them just as much as she wanted to let him know him that she wouldn’t let anything happen to _him_ , no matter if he laughed at her or said that if there was any protection going on between them, it would be coming from him, not her.

  “In any case,” Arman was saying now, “My parents had better fortune than most as they found love in their marriage, regardless of the fate that was meant to end their lives.”

  That had to force Sansa’s attention away from the Martells and back to the present, not because of hearing that Arman had lost his parents, but because she remembered the day her father was killed. She could still recall as clearly as if it had only been yesterday: the sound that Ice had made in the hands of Ser Ilyn Payne as it descended quickly over Lord Eddard Stark, to strike the life from him. _I haven’t thought of Ser Ilyn for so long_ , she realized, shuddering. _He hasn’t haunted my dreams in months._ She wondered if it meant something that, because of Magister Nervere, painful memories were creeping back to her.

  Shaking her head, Sansa patted Arman’s hand lightly and tried to remember her courtesies. “I am sorry for your loss. Do you mind my asking how–?”

  “Did they die?” Arman finished. “It’s all right, I can tell you. I was a boy and had never been out of Great Norvos, so my father decided I ought to start seeing the world and took my mother and I to meet his family. After some weeks of staying in Volantis, my parents decided to go visit Qarth and other places around the Jade Sea, like the island of Leng or Asshai by the Shadow. I remember my father joking that they would find the fabled dreaming city of poets. The last letter I received from them was written the night before they departed their Palace in Elyria. As they crossed the Summer Sea, their ship was caught in a fierce storm, and none survived.”

  When he was done, Sandor was drinking from his cup while Sansa stared at her hands. Following Sandor’s lead, she lifted her goblet with two hands and took a long sip. She had heard the pain in Magister Nervere’s voice as he spoke. “I am truly sorry, Arman. To lose whom you love at such a young age must be unbearable.”

  She looked around her at the two men she was with, so different in every possible aspect, yet they shared in common having known pain and loss and emptiness when they were little children. _And so have I_ , she regretted, remembering her father’s face, so much like Arya’s. _And there is little Rickon and sweet Bran to mourn for as well_. _Everyone has their ghosts that come back to haunt you when you least expect it_.

  “I did not invite you to talk about sad memories, my friends. Please, let’s talk about anything else that you would like.”

  Sansa’s mind searched for something to say, but Sandor was faster than her.

  “You stayed at Volantis for long after that?”

  “Yes, for almost a year under the care of my relatives.”

  “I’ve heard that in Volantis the temple of your red god is one of the largest buildings in the world. Since the Norvoshi believe more in the Mother Rhoyne and the Old Man of the River than in your fire god, do I take it that you became a follower of it in Volantis?”

  Magister Nervere’s beautiful blue eyes hardened a bit, shining bright in the candlelight, but after a moment he straightened up and said, “R’hllor is not an _it_ but the only true god there is. Yes, Edric, you are right in believing so. I can see that you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “A bit,” Sandor admitted carelessly, with a shrug. “Your fellow magisters don’t mind entrusting their city to a follower of some foreign god?”

  “Alas, it _is_ true that Great Norvos has not yet seen the path of truth that R’hllor’s light shows, unlike most of the other Free Cities. The Bearded Priests are to blame for that in part, but times are changing. There is to be a new temple for the Lord of Light in this city soon, and a very dear friend of mine, who has been with me since the year I lived in Volantis, is bringing in more and more followers into R’hllor’s warm embrace.”

“Bloody fanatics,” Sandor rasped, his eyes never leaving Arman’s face. Sansa could feel the tension in the air, and was powerless to say anything. The way Magister Nervere spoke of his faith gave her a bad feeling, but what could she do? _He is free to believe in whom he likes. I can’t judge him for that_.

  “I can see you are a man who doesn’t believe in either the Lord of Light or even in another false god, Edric. I offer you my condolences for that.”

  Sandor threw back his head and broke into laughter. “Bugger the gods and your condolences. And you as well.”

  Sansa rubbed her hands anxiously together and said the first thing that came into her mind, “How did you become acquainted with the Lord of Light’s faith?”

  Her eyes caught Sandor’s and they silently pleaded with him to stop.

  “As you wish, Edric. Every man is free to dispose of their lives as they will, but they must all feel R’hllor’s fire before their time in this world is over.” Magister Nervere said, before switching a golden ring he was wearing to another finger. “ _I_ decided to dedicate my life not only to my home city but to R’hllor one hot day, as I walked with my cousins on the streets of Volantis and I encountered for the first time His beautiful enormous temple. The singing that was coming from inside its walls stirred something in me, and before I knew what I was doing, I entered it and the rest was me discovering the truth and the right road to tread in this life.”

  Sansa nodded and gave the Magister a forced smile. “It is clear that your god has a staunch supporter. I am happy for you, Arman, but forgive me, as you talked of your stay in another city, I remembered that in our previous visit to your house you said that you had been around the lands of the Jade Sea yourself. Since I am not so learned in what the red god’s followers believe or do, and have always wondered what lies far to the east, could you tell us about your voyages to those lands?” 

  Arman studied her over his own goblet; his bright blue eyes full of… care? Or was it something else? Sansa was not certain, but in any case, the Magister took the opportunity she gave him of changing the subject and began to speak of his travels to the edge of the known world. _He is a wonderful storyteller_ , she had to admit after the third tale. His voice was soothing to the ear, and he always stopped at the right places in his stories.

  Before long, she began to imagine herself going to visit all those faraway lands, with Sandor at her side. She sighed, because she knew that if that trip ever happened, it would be years from now, and it would be quite impossible to convince her family and whoever her husband was to let her go to the Jade Sea alone with Sandor, so they could relive the time when they escaped the Lannisters and lived in Essos for a while.

  Thankfully, supper after that was an uneventful occasion. They finished their dinner with a tasty smoked duck and strawberries for a desert, accompanied by a cup of iced mead.

  Perhaps it was because drinking from her goblet was the only thing she could do while Sandor and Arman talked of the red god, as well as when Arman was speaking of Essos, Sansa couldn’t help but notice that she was already on her fourth cup by the time the dessert arrived. The wine tasted of oak and fruit and hot summer nights, the flavors blossoming in her mouth like flowers opening to the sun. Sandor would raise an eyebrow at her whenever she ordered one. _He hasn’t gotten drunk in all the time we’ve been together_ , she realized. _He still drinks every day, but not like before. He looks healthier_.

  She turned her head to meet his eyes, wondering if Sandor would give her a look that questioned her behavior, but he didn’t. Instead of a disapproving face, he gave her a proud grin as his mouth twitched, making Sansa feel as if her skin was glowing red at the way he looked her up and down, letting his grey tormented eyes linger on her eyes, lips, neck, and breasts in a lustful manner.

  Besides making her feel as if he was eating her up with his eyes, Sandor was in turns quiet and brooding while Magister Nervere spoke of his journeys, occasionally laughing mockingly in his face after some of the things he told them he’d found and seen in the east.

  It was past midnight when they finally departed Arman’s company; the moment Sansa stood up, her head felt so dizzy she feared for a moment that she would not be able to keep down the Arbor gold. Both men noticed and moved to her side at once, but Sandor got to her first and rasped, “I’ll take her.”

  “Yes, Arman, he’ll do it. I just stood up too quickly, but he’ll take good care of me,” she assured their host. “Good night.”

  Sandor took her arm, sniggering, and escorted her away from the terrace and the solar. When they were far away from the Magister, Sandor began to laugh out loud, and the sound of it echoed in the empty hallways of the manor like iron scraping over stone.

  “It wasn’t so unpleasant an evening,” she remarked casually, leaning closer to the warmth of Sandor’s arm.

  “Speak for yourself, little bird. Besides that bit when he tried to appear as if he was a lamb yet tried to show me his teeth and claws, it was just as fucking boring as the last time we were here. And it was the same for you; otherwise you wouldn’t have drunk so much in an attempt to see tonight through with your wits about you.”

  “The wine was very fine, Sandor. And I only had four cups _while_ I ate. My belly isn’t full of wine.”

  Sandor laughed again. “I know you aren’t drunk, and you know I am right.”

  Sansa had nothing to say to that, so she let Sandor steer her upstairs to their apartments. When they reached her door, Sansa stopped in front of it, but didn’t touch the handle. There was not a sound in the world but the one which their breaths made, and she suddenly remembered that tonight she would not be able to fall asleep with Sandor beside her.

  “Won’t you come in?” she asked, looking up at his face.

  “You know I can’t,” he told her in a hard tone.

  They stood there, staring at each other in the gathering darkness, weighing each other’s resolutions and strengths and wills, until Sansa said, “Then, can I ask you not to mock Arman’s faith, please? I know that believing in a fire god is silly, but you were insulting him the way you once mocked me once for my belief in the gods who made us all.”

  “Believing in a bloody fire god silly? I thought you had grown up, Sansa,” Sandor snarled, smiling in a way that cut like a knife. “If there are gods, they make sheep so wolves can eat mutton, and they make the weak for the strong to play with. Nervere is a sheep who has yet to learn his proper place.”

  Sansa wanted not to start arguing with Sandor about something she knew she would not be able to change his mind about–no more than he had hers.

  “And I thought you were wiser. Please, don’t test his patience, Sandor. You heard him talking about this new connection he has with the Martells.”

  Sandor snorted. “And you heard him going on about how he is gathering new followers for his fucking _R’hllor_. He wouldn’t need that reason to decide he suddenly wants to kill me, little bird. He owns this city. He doesn’t need to give any reasons as to why he does what he does. Just give the order and wait till it’s carried through.”

  Sandor was right, she knew. _No, don’t say that. I don’t want to believe that is even a possibility_. _Not now, now when we are in his house; in his mercy_. The wine was making her feel strange. _Why did we ever accept this? Why did we ever allow Arman to come into our lives?_ The prospect of entering the rooms behind her alone made her wish she didn’t have to let go of him tonight. If they could only be together, then he would be safe.

  “Nothing will happen to you,” she promised him. “I won’t allow it.”

  Sandor stepped closer to her, making her back up against the door. He chuckled and said, “Stop fretting, little bird. I don’t give a shit what he thinks about me. He is free to try and kill me if he likes, but that doesn’t mean he would succeed. Like as not, it would be my sword sticking out of his belly than one of his guards’ axe sticking out of mine.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” she heard herself say.

  Sandor’s eyes hardened and when he spoke, his voice was firm, in a tone that brook no opposition.

  “We should guard better our tongues here. Best you go inside now, little bird.”

  Sansa’s lips trembled at that, but she nodded resigned, and stepped into the bedroom, letting her hand brush against Sandor’s. She closed and locked the door, and tried hard not to stumble against the furniture as she made her way to the large bed, only to end up hitting her knee hard against a stool. The moon outside barely illuminating the room, since the candles were almost all out, but their scented smell lingered in the air as Sansa unlaced her gown and took off her shoes after she moved again towards the bed. It took her a bit more time than usual to slip into her nightgown, for she felt the floor was moving beneath her.

  When it was done, she crawled onto the large dark mass that was her bed, sighing. _It feels so nice_ , she thought, as her head rested on feather goose pillows and her hands caressed the satin sheets beneath her. She got under the covers and closed her eyes, gathering she would be asleep instantly.

  But she could not sleep.

  She began to toss and turn around, uncomfortable with almost every position she shifted into. Sansa toyed with the idea of it being the wine that was robbing her of her sleep, for this was a bed for ten people after all, yet no matter how comfortable the mattress was, the bed felt strange.

  Wondering if Sandor was also having trouble sleeping made her realize what the problem was, and now knowing the reason, it didn’t surprise her at all. _I haven’t slept alone in so many months_. _I miss Sandor. I want Sandor. I miss his comforting big body beside me, and the sounds he makes while he sleeps._ It was frustrating to know that he probably missed her as well, yet they couldn’t do anything about it. _I won’t even think of how it will be once we’re back in Westeros._

  She pressed her legs closer together as she felt warm feelings suddenly taking over her mind and lower body, as she absentmindedly rubbed her neck. She hugged a pillow to her face to muffle a squeal of frustration, longing, and a bit of lust.

 

***

  Morning light found Sandor waking up from a good, if not deep sleep. For how could he sleep profoundly when the little bird body wasn’t beside him? _Fuck, at least I managed to get some sleep,_ he gathered, as he shook off the sleep from his eyes. Last night, when he needed to bid Sansa to enter her rooms despite her face clearly showing she wanted to be with him as much as he wanted it, Sandor had been sure he would not be able to get a moment of rest; mainly because he was under Nervere’s roof, but also because he had finally spent a night away from Sansa after so long. The need to have her close to him and the memory of her perfect backside as she was about to enter the pool had soon made his cock go hard, and he relieved himself as quietly as he could, hating that he was doing it under Arman’s house, but too aroused to stop.

  Closing his eyes once again as he remembered what he’d done last night, Sandor took off the earplugs he had put on some hours ago, cursing the Norvoshi of the Low City for having none of these little things down in their city. He had woken up when the bell that announced dawn rang, but more out of routine than because of the bloody noise it was surely making, but which he had only heard with the earplugs on as a low muffled sound a long way away.

  Sandor relished the feeling of resting on a comfortable bed for a moment longer, and then he sat up and looked at the window before him. _It must be a couple of hours till midday_ , he gathered. _The little bird won’t be up yet_.

  And he was right. When he entered her rooms he found her still sleeping peacefully, her long auburn hair all about her pillow, hiding her face. Her bare perfect shoulder was visible where her nightgown has slid down over her arm, and her chest rose up and down; her soft breathing was the only sound heard that broke the stillness of the bedroom.

  “Little bird,” he whispered, shaking her lightly by the shoulder as he sat beside her. “Wake up.”

  She began to make small whimpers that drove him mad as she shifted about the bed, forcing his eyes to roam all over her body.

  “Is it morning so soon?” he heard her mumble.

  “Yes, look for yourself.”

  Raising her head a bit from the goose feather pillows, Sansa threw a hand up to block the sudden light and peeked at him from behind the hair that had fallen across her face. The moment she saw him sitting on the bed, her eyes went wide and she beamed at him.

  “I didn’t expect to wake up with you beside me this morning,” she said.

  He raised his eyebrow. “I hope you don’t mind it?” he sneered, knowing perfectly well that she didn’t.

  She shook her head again quickly, assuring him that she didn’t mind it. “I missed you,” she confessed, her voice still sleepy.

  Sandor played idly with the hand she had resting on the bed, staring at it as he confessed, “Me, too.”

  Sansa’s eyes kept looking between their hands and his eyes, as a small sly smile appeared on her face.

   “Mornings aren’t your thing,” he lied then. “You look a proper mess.”

  Sansa’s eyes stared at her loose hair all about her and broke into a clear loud laugh. “That’s not a nice thing to say to a lady!” she exclaimed gaily, as she drew her hand away from his and punched him lightly on the arm, before throwing herself against the pillows and sighing in content.

  “And there aren’t many ladies that hit people.”

  “How was your night?” she asked him, yawning.

  “Better than yours,” he stated, realizing that she hadn’t worn her earplugs. “Bloody hells, Sansa, how could you forget putting on those earplugs when you knew the bells would sound louder up here?”

  Sansa laughed at his expression. “I don’t mind that as much as you do, big man.”

  He stood up then, unable to bear being close to her as she called him that in this bloody house.

  “Get dressed. I’ll ask some servant to bring our breakfast,” he told her as she slipped into her robe and belted it about her wait.

  Thankfully, the cockless wonder that was their host had told them last night that he didn’t think it possible to see them till the ball, so they would be able to break their fast and try and enjoy today without his blasted company.

  He left Sansa there, looking up at him from the middle of her bed, and strode out of the room searching for the first servant he could find. It turned out to be a boy who looked ready to piss his clothes when he caught sight of Sandor’s scars, forgetting that his own face was an ugly tapestry of red boils, adorned by a large cyst on his neck; and it took the stupid boy a long time to understand Sandor’s accent telling him in Valyrian that the guests of the buggering High Magister wanted to break their fast in Lady Alysanne’s rooms. _Where is that bald steward when one needs him_ , Sandor thought, walking away. When he returned to Sansa’s rooms and received no reply after knocking at the door, he stepped inside and found the little bird once more outside on the terraced garden.

  He could see her slippers whenever a strong gust of wind flapped around her skirts, and he saw as well that her hair was pulled back in a long braid that fell to her waist, as she leaned her elbows on the balustrade at the edge of the garden, so lost with the view before her that she didn’t hear him approach till he walked up bedside her. Sansa looked up at him, beaming. She looked so bloody happy she didn’t realize that it wasn’t safe to stand here for long. _I don’t like her to be so close to the edge of the terrace: one strong wind or startled jump and she could fall down into the void_.

  “Is breakfast coming?” she asked casually.

  “Aye,” he said. “If that poxy brat managed to understand me for a fucking second.”

  Her eyebrows rose at his words, so he had to explain what had happened, which had her laughing and rolling her eyes at him. Sandor looked down at the long fall one would take from up here, as the little bird began to chatter about what she thought the people down in the streets were doing and wonder at how the ball would turn out tonight, but Sandor remained silent.

  “Sandor? Are you all right?” he heard Sansa chirp, as she leaned her elbows on the handrail, looking up at him enquiringly now.

  “What were you saying?” he asked, focusing on her chirping.

  “Oh, Sandor, how can this landscape be lost to you?”

  “Because it’s no hair off my arse the way the world looks.”

  Sansa sighed, and he was amused to actually see her trying to retain her patience about her.

  “This view is beautiful. How can it not interest you a little?”

  Sandor didn’t care much about it; Sansa was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and nothing so far had proven him wrong. So he shrugged his shoulders and rasped, “Views don’t interest me the way other things do.”

  He looked deeply at her then, taking in the curves of her body in a bracing way, daring her to understand his meaning. Sandor saw in her eyes that she did, but what surprised him was that she didn’t break away from his gaze, but instead asked, “What other things?”

  Just then they heard the servants coming into the apartments with their breakfast, so Sandor shook his head and said, “I don’t know about you, girl, but I’m hungry as hell. Come.”

  The breakfast that had been sent to them was fried and fresh bread, both straight out of the oven, along with a crock of butter and cold milk; warm teas and black plump figs, ham, and a large platter with different kinds of fruit. There were apples and pears and pomegranates, some grapes, and blood oranges. Sandor chose a pomegranate and cut it in two with his dagger, offering half to Sansa as she sat beside him at the head of the long table in the living room. Sansa ate it happily, casting sideway glances at him. _Why does she keep on looking at me like that?_ he wondered with a little annoyance _. Why does she keep on smiling at me like a grinning beautiful little fool?_

  As Sandor cut a fig in two with his dagger, he saw Sansa choosing a pear before she took a small delicate bite of it. It was so buggering ripe that its juice ran down her chin. The sight of it had his cock stirring against his breeches, as the thought of licking the juice from her chin and lips crossed his mind. Sansa mumbled “Excuse me,” as she dabbed at the juice with a handkerchief, her neck growing a bit red.

  They spent the day exploring the places in Arman Nervere’s manor that they hadn’t seen yet, and Sandor was as happy as he could ever be underneath that fucker’s roof mostly because he didn’t show his face all day long to them. _If I have to spend another day in this place, I’m going to go bloody mad_. Sandor was sure of it. Urroc the steward was barely better than his master, and they unfortunately did have to tolerate his presence to make up for the lack of his employer’s presence.

  An hour before dusk, the little bird told him that she was going to go take her bath and begin preparing herself for the ball, and when he escorted her back to her rooms, they saw that four handmaidens were waiting for her to help her out with whatever she needed. Sandor Clegane soon found himself standing guard once again outside Lady Alysanne Mallister’s rooms, a flagon of wine on his hand, trying hard not to allow his mind to wander to the dangerous place where the thoughts of Sansa, naked beyond this door, took him to.

  After some time of just standing in the empty hallway, Sandor began to hear the distant sound of steel meeting steel in a ringing, bone-jarring clang that drove him to the nearest window in five long strides. His insides coiled in a tight twist as he saw the brown head of bloody Nervere on a garden down by the second floor of the house, somewhere to the right of where this window faced. Sandor’s lip curled as he stared down at Nervere, wearing a long loose tunic, with sword in hand, practicing swordplay with a short man who kept pivoting around the perimeter that had been established by four large stones, where both men were bringing their swords around and up in deadly arcs. 

  “Nice move!” Sandor heard Arman exclaim, as he drove at the short man, the longsword alive in his hands.

  _Why the fuck does that bloody Norvoshi practice swordplay with a weapon of the Seven Kingdoms?_ For a heartbeat, Sandor laughed sourly. _Maybe he is training to have a barely good chance of defeating me_. But what made him feel unease was to accept that bloody Arman was skilled with the blade. And thus, he was so intent on watching and studying the swordplay that he didn’t even register if he’d heard Sansa’s handmaidens leave her rooms at some point, for that was when it looked as if Nervere was going to lose, jumping back, parrying, as the short man followed, pressing the attack. But no sooner did his opponent turn one cut than Nervere was suddenly upon him.

  The swords kissed and sprang apart and kissed again. _Seven bloody hells, he fights just like Jaime Lannister_. Both men were alike in height and build, so he shouldn’t be surprised in that. What was really startling to Sandor was just how desperate he was to go down there and teach those buggering idiots what it was to _really_ fight. His hand kept grabbing the handle of his sword. _Lannister never stood a chance with me, though he would give me a decent fight,_ he gathered. _I could break my fast with this lamb in swaddling clothes._ He recalled how sure of himself that idiot had been last night at dinner as he talked of that fucking red god, and it made Sandor feel the rage inside him once again. _Buggering idiot_ , he thought, as high, low and overhand, Arman Nervere and the short man rained down steel upon each other. _The short man is more experienced, but older. He lacks the strength of young men._

  Sandor stood there beside the window ledge until the practice was done, drinking from the flagon of wine. He saw Arman patting the short man on the back and telling him how thankful he was to him and happy for the good fight they gave each today.

  “You are getting far better at it than me, Magister,” the short man told Nervere, as they walked away from the practice yard, a towel on his hand to clean off the sweat on the back of his neck and hair.

  “That must mean you are doing a good job in shaping me, Kelenne,” their sodding host said, laughing that annoying laugh of his.

  “You seemed most intent on the lesson today. Are things going well with the ruling of this great city?”

  “Things _are_ looking up. I thank R’hllor for hearing my prayers. I’ve been busy lately with the council giving me some troubles and objections, but besides that, I think we will be able to have the building open soon enough. But then, there’s the Iron Bank asking the Yutzren family to pay them back their loans.”

  “At least you have the ball tonight to distract yourself.”

  “Indeed, my friend, I have the ball tonight and I have hope for the nearby future. I wish to introduce to you someone tonight at the ball, if you don’t mind…”

  When they went far beyond his range of vision and hearing, Sandor snorted derisively. _Idiots_. He looked up at the sky and realized that it was well past dusk _. I walked upon the little bird about to bathe a day ago_ , he remembered suddenly. _Isn’t she done getting ready? She’s been in there for a fucking long time_.

  He walked back to her doors, leaving the empty flagon of wine on the window ledge, and knocked heavily. Waiting some moments and receiving only silence he called, “Alysanne?”

  “Y–yes, Edric?” he heard her cry in a trembling voice.

  Sandor knew just by hearing those two words that something was wrong. “Alysanne, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, I–I’m just waiting for my handmaidens to come back. You didn’t see them out there, do you?”

  Sandor glanced to his sides. “No. Why are they making you wait for them? Weren’t they bloody inside with you when I left?”

  “Yes, but… well, the slippers that I was given didn’t fit me, so I sent a handmaiden to look for another pair. They must do everything in small groups together here, because all the handmaidens went away to look for the new pair.”

  “So what if you don’t have a pair of shoes? Aren’t you finished yet with everything else? Let me in and we’ll wait. I don’t like shouting through the door,” he told her, as he tried to open the door. It was locked

  “No, I–I’m not ready yet. I still have to do my hair and others things–”

  “Seven hells, it beats me how or why you take such a bloody long time with it.”

  “I am a lady, I’m supposed to take long,” he heard her shout back at him.

  Sandor grinned at the indignation in her voice, but was also quickly losing his patience. “Alys, open up or I’ll kick the door open.”

  “What? No, don’t do that,” she exclaimed from inside the room, and quick as that he heard her moving towards the door. She opened it a crack and said, “I can’t let you in.”

  He frowned down at what little he could see of her through the crack. “Why not?”

  “I–well… It’s just that these Norvoshi gown are just so strange that I can’t manage to reach my back and lace it up. The handmaidens left me before they did it, saying they would come back, but it’s been a while and… nothing,” she explained, biting her lip as she wrinkled up her face up at him.

  His grey eyes quickly met hers. He knew exactly what was happening. He could let her wait for her servants and let them do the job, but vaguely remembering a bit what women in the High City wore, the thought of helping Sansa lace up that revealing gown was starting to make him hard and stubborn. In that moment, suddenly all the world was forgotten. He only cared that his little bird was partly undressed inside and he wanted to do something about it. _But will she agree to it?_

  “Get inside,” he said, in a low rasp, “I’ll help you.”

  Sansa’s eyes went wide at that, and she began to blush. She turned her neck to see if anyone was coming, and when she assured herself that they were alone, she opened the her mouth and whispered, “Sandor, I–”

  But he didn’t let her finish. Before he knew what he was doing he pushed the door open, and stepped into the living room, turning around to see Sansa quickly locking the door behind her. Sandor Clegane felt heavily and acutely some need in him at the sight of the little bird standing before him in a woven dress designed in the Norvoshi fashion, that left her neck, arms, shoulder and back bare; it was too fucking fascinating and put it out of the question that he would walk away from her now. _Fuck, I would follow her into any of the seven hells if she asked it of me._

  “I need help lacing it up from behind,” she told him nervously, grabbing tightly on to the front of the gown so it didn’t fall to the floor for lack of support and revealed those perfect full white breasts of her. Sandor gulped and tried to control his hands from shaking.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you all so very much for reading!! And your reviews always lighten up my day! There are a great way to start the week with :D


	21. The Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)  
> *Thank you so much lovely betas: onborrowedwings, nysandra & swiftsnowmane :D  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.

  Sansa turned around, holding her gown tightly against her chest with one hand to keep it from sliding down revealing her breasts to Sandor, using the other hand to sweep her loose long curls over one shoulder, so it would not interfere with him trying to lace her back.

  This is _so_ _strange_ , she could not help but think, as her heart beat faster when, after a long moment of silence, she heard and felt Sandor walking up behind her. Sansa had been compelled to learn how to lace up her own gowns out of necessity after their escape from King’s Landing and had no longer any handmaidens to help her, but the dresses she had been wearing for the last couple of months were simple, and could be tied up quickly once she gained experience. This gown was so maddeningly complicated that she had to have help.

  _Maddening, but beautiful,_ she had to admit. It was easy to tell that it was made out of the finest silks in the world, and Sansa had felt so happy as she tried it on, treasuring the silky feeling of it against her skin. The color was a deep blue that brought out the red in her lustrous hair, and made her eyes shine as brightly as Magister Nervere’s sapphire-colored ones. She was not accustomed to revealing so much, for not even in King’s Landing had ladies worn such low-cut these gowns at court. _But I am a young woman now and noble Norvoshi ladies wear them. I must play a part tonight as I am among_ _them_.

  The gown left her white arms bare, as well as her shoulders and back. The laces along the bodice were meant to tie all around her waist, tightening the dress against her body, bringing her round breasts into prominence. _Thank goodness the cut isn’t any lower, or I would have been too uncomfortable to wear this._ The little fur-trimmed jackets that accompanied these sorts of gowns would at least cover up most of the skin she was exposing.

  After her handmaidens had left her alone, Sansa had sorted out which jewelry she would be wearing, but when time went by and they hadn’t returned, she grew a little anxious. She knew she had to calm herself down, but how could she, when Sandor had ended up offering to help her?

  She could hardly believe her ears when she realized he wanted to help her, but didn’t feel she could refuse. _I don’t_ want _to refuse_. How could it be wrong, after everything they’d been through together?

  Even now, as he stood behind her, Sansa’s heart raced. The knowledge of what she was letting him do made her blush and she tried to suppress a giggle, imagining Sandor’s reaction if she proposed that he could be her new handmaid.

  When Sandor took the laces at her sides in his huge hands, he brought her a little closer to him, and she could not help but wonder if he at least had some idea of what to do.

  “Draw a knot with them around just below the small of my back, please,” she said. “And when that’s done, hand me one lace so that I can attach it around this little button while you bring the other around my left shoulder.”

  Sandor grunted, a sound that reminded her of a bear, and did as he was told with hands that were stiff and awkward; as if they had never done this before. He probably never had, she realized, wishing she could tip-toe on her feet and kiss him. _Perhaps this is what husbands do with their wives sometimes_. Sansa had helped Sandor take off his armor and boots, but he had never either taken off or put garments on her.

When his warm knuckles and fingertips brushed against her lower back, Sansa’s pulse quickened.

  “Done,” she heard him growl behind her, in that deep rasp of his which excited her just as much as it had once frightened her, just as she was finishing tying the lace to the little baby pearl that served as button. “Now?”

  “We must wind it round my body,” she finally managed to say, in a trembling voice. Sandor startled her then, because a moment after she said that, she felt his hands on her backside and hip, and as he turned her around to face him, the world seemed to stop; to stop moving and making noise. She could not even hear their loud breathing, because the thumping of her own heart was so strong it blocked out every sound. His grey eyes, so much like the color one often found in people of the North, were gazing at her intensely.

  She gulped as he stepped back. When the laces were completely stretched out between them, she pressed her gown closer to her, and told Sandor to stand still while she swirled around towards him, tangling up the laces in just the right way around her waist. Sansa must have been a bit too nervous, for she moved faster than was necessary and ended up bumping against Sandor. She staggered at the impact and lost her footing, but Sandor caught her by the shoulder and steadied her.

  “Careful, little bird,” he said, laughing. His laughter was iron scraping over stone, but it warmed Sansa all the same, and she laughed as well. _I’m being silly. I have to calm down_.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m nervous for the ball,” she lied, glancing down at the hand he still had on her bare shoulder. She felt like she had to say something. “Thank you for helping me with the gown.”

  Sandor didn’t say anything. Instead, his gaze followed her gaze. He gave her shoulder a squeeze, before he brought his hand down to slide around her bare arm.

  She was certain he would take it away then, and silently thanked the old gods and the new for this; Sandor surprised her by bringing his hand again to her shoulder, sending goose pimples all along her skin. The feeling of his callused palm and fingers running up and down her shoulder made her arch her back a little, and when he brought his hand to her neck, while his thumb caressed her cheekbone, he said in a deep voice that held desire in its tones, “This dress is too revealing, little bird.”

  Sansa leaned into his hand. _It’s so big it covers my cheek and jaw perfectly_.  “Well, why shouldn’t I wear it? We’re in the East. Don’t you like it?”

  Sandor moved his hand to the back of her neck, his long fingers twisting about in her hair, and tilted her neck back. She felt a little exposed since her neck and chest weren’t covered, but that realization just heightened her senses as her legs grew weak.

  He never said a word, yet his eyes studied her with a hungry look about them as he stared at the top of her breasts, her long neck and her face. Sansa could see him gulp, the thick muscles of his neck moving strongly with it, and she had the grace to blush. _Is this what he meant when he said it was a revealing dress? Is he trying to show me the effect it has?_ If he was, he was certainly succeeding. Sansa could not quite understand what was it that was making her feel nervous. It was a sort of feeling that made her aware in this moment that something was happening between them which she couldn’t place, though she had a feeling that Sandor had.

  “It comes with a fur-trimmed jacket, you know,” she said, in an assuring manner, so she could ease his displeasure a little bit, and because she longed to break this silence in which he held her in a way that didn’t allow her to move a limb, when she was aching to get closer to him. “I can cover it up when I wish so.”

  The sound of her voice seemed to bring Sandor back to the present. He blinked, looking startled, and returned his gaze to her eyes. Her mouth parted open a little, and Sandor suddenly let her go a bit too roughly, stepping away from her. Sansa looked after him feeling s mixture of confusion, anger, disappointment, and longing.

  She looked down at her gown, and smirked in a mocking way when she saw that at least she now only had to tie into a ribbon the laces just below her breasts, and she’d be done with putting on this Norvoshi gown.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, not caring to hide the anger from her voice, as she felt the color rising to her cheeks. “What’s wrong now?”

  “That dress is more trouble than it’s worth,” Sandor spat, walking over the long table in the living room. He sat on the chair heavily, and looked at her intently. “You would still look more fucking beautiful than all the bloody women that are going to attend this ball, even if you were wearing a sodding milkmaid’s gown, so why you have to go and choose this thrice-damned complicated one is beyond me, little bird.”

  Beneath all the curses and irritating manner, Sansa realized that Sandor has just finally called her beautiful to her face. _He is trying to restrain himself again_. She sighed, laughing a resigned laugh. _Will he always be like this? Walking away when he should hold me closer?_ _Does he fear I would pull away or that I would want him to go further?_

  “If this gown hadn’t come from Arman I would be happy to keep it, you know. Regardless of how complicated it is to lace up,” she told him, sitting on the chair beside his.

  Sandor thumbed his fingers against the surface of the table and seemed to measure her for a moment, before saying, “I saw him just now in some garden practicing.”

  Sansa frowned. “Where? What was he practicing?”

  “In a terrace some floors below. I saw him through a window on the hall. He was practicing sword fighting with this short man–in the Westerosi style.”

  She knew that Sandor could distinguish perfectly the way the knights of the Seven Kingdoms fought, but she still asked, “Why? Why does a magister of Norvos care to learn that?” She seemed to remember Arman telling her he had no wish to visit Westeros any time soon.

 “That’s what I wondered as well. I can’t stand that little shit.”

  “Sandor,” she said. “I was thinking and I don’t deem it wise to introduce you to too many people at the ball. The less attention we draw to you, the less gossip will reach the unwanted ears of our enemies about a certain man of towering height from the Seven Kingdoms with burns on his face.”

  Sandor laughed openly. “You are truly taking this thing of taking care of me seriously, aren’t you? You aren’t leaving any loose ends.”

  Sansa smiled at his praise. “I wish we had more options,” she admitted, resting her chin on her entwined hands.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we can’t leave Norvos to get away from Arman and his connections to another Free City, because there are none. When we were deciding where to head for next back in Pentos, Norvos was the best option. If we were to leave the city so we could get away from him, Pentos would again be our destination. But I want to stay here for a little while longer. Just a bit more time in this place, far away from everything, where we can enjoy this sort of life we’re leaving. I don’t feel like being the Princess of the North yet. I can stand Magister Nervere’s presence more than being back home, because no matter how much I miss my mother and Robb, I want things to stay as they are for the present. I love this great city and almost all the people in it. And you know there is still so much we have not seen yet. Vintos was telling me about the fabled caves of Brenetum the other day, and Frema hinted at us going with her and Vintos to their village for a month. If we were to head back to Westeros tomorrow, and after the joy of seeing my family again turned into a pleasant every day feeling once we settled in to our new lives in Winterfell, I know I would miss these days terribly and the opportunities lost to us.”

  Sandor’s eyes never left her as she once again opened her heart to him. _Why is it so easy to let him know my mind? And why can’t I let my heart speak for once about what I feel for him?_

  She waited for him to speak, as she let her eyes wander to the coarse hair that could be seen on his collarbone beneath his tunic, remembering the times when they would wake up in the morning and he would let her curl her fingers around the hair on his chest.

  “All right,” he finally rasped. “We’ll stay here for a couple more months. But that fucking magister better understand that he isn’t welcome into our lives, or there will be trouble. I’m getting tired of allowing him liberties simply because he is the bloody High Magister. We had to stand Joffrey, but not this idiot.”

  Sansa bit her lip wondering if she should risk asking him something she had on her mind. “Sandor, you–if I asked you at the ball, you wouldn’t dance with me, would you?”

  Sandor frowned at her. Then he said, “No.”

  She nodded, understanding _. Of course he wouldn’t. It’s probably for the best in any case. I can’t ask it of him to do so when he would feel uncomfortable. Not even if it makes me sad that we will never dance together._ _And there is also the matter of how dancing with him could draw more attention tomorrow at the ball_. It was actually painful to think of all the things they would never be able to do openly. If he wasn’t her sworn shield, the closest they could get to being like everyone else would be the times they were with Frema and Vintos. Sandor never touched her when the married couple was around, but he did let go of his reservations a little at least.

  In the streets, whenever they walked side by side, they drew curious glances, but back in the Seven Kingdoms where everyone disliked The Hound, they could end up getting more than pointed fingers and mutterings behind people’s hands.

  When the handmaidens finally returned and Sandor barked the question of why on earth had they taken so much time, Sansa couldn’t believe it when she learned that they had gone to the High City to search for a pair of slippers that would fit her.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” she told them when they answered Sandor’s question. 

  “It was no trouble, Lady Alysanne. We apologize for keeping you waiting. Shall we continue with tending your hair and face now?”

  She nodded as Sandor and she stood up. “You may.”

  “I’ll go and change,” Sandor rasped, walking to the door before closing it with a heavy sound when he was outside.

  Sansa sighed, and forced herself to smile at her handmaidens. “Let’s get me ready, then,” she told them, walking over to seat at her vanity table. She looked at her reflection upon the mirror that was framed in pure gold, occasionally letting her eyes wander to the vase with fresh flowers on the table, or at the many bottles and pots of powder before her.

  “Just brush my hair,” she told the plump handmaiden behind her, after she had prattled on about putting a small tiara on Sansa’s head or tying up her curls into an elaborate bun. “I want to wear it loose tonight.”

  If she was forced to take off her fur-trimmed jacket she at least wanted her hair to cover part of her bare back.

  “But you will allow us to paint your eyes after the Norvoshi fashion?”

  Sansa looked intently at her face, taking in all the changes she had undergone since the little girl she’d been in Winterfell. She had lost her baby fat, and now her face was narrow, throwing into prominence her high cheekbones. Her lips were ready to be kissed, and her hair had been brushed until it curled shone. Her porcelain white skin was somehow glowing in the candlelight the handmaidens were lighting up _. I already look like a young lady_ , she thought _. But maybe I need a change tonight to make Sandor see me as a woman he could_ be _with_. “Yes, paint my eyes.”

  When a mousy-haired handmaiden was done with her face, Sansa gasped at the reflection on the mirror. _I’m so beautiful_ , she could not help but think; she admired the way her Tully blue eyes darkened into a startling color due to the dark khol around them, making her curly eyelashes look longer. She could hardly recognize herself. _Neither Father nor the boys would know me. Mother and Arya might, but it would take them a moment_. Sandor would know her, though, and tonight that was all that she cared to prove. _If only I could make him forget himself for one moment, that would be enough_.

  Sansa didn’t want to look like Cersei Lannister, so she declined having her cheeks colored, or her mouth. Every detail of the night of the battle against Lord Stannis was engraved on her memory, and the sight of the queen, all in white, but with color on her cheeks, was nothing she cared to imitate. _At least, now I don’t have to wear any powder to cover the bruises in my face or body that showed how merciful Joffrey and his Kingsguard were to me. With my dark eyes, it will suffice_. She bit her lips and pinched her cheeks because that was a way to bring a natural red to her skin, and leaned back on her chair to take her new look in.

  She donned her borrowed gemstones, and let the servants put a drop of some sweet scented oil on the back of her ears, her wrists, and her ankles for some reason. She dismissed her handmaidens, and told them to tell her sworn shield that she was ready.

  “I almost forgot, but Urroc instructed us to tell you, Lady Alysanne, that he shall come and fetch you and Ser Edric when the ball begins,” the youngest of the handmaidens told her.

  “Very well,” she said, smiling at the girl calling Sandor a knight. “Oh, and please, don’t call Edric a Ser, unless you wish to provoke him, as you tell him to come in.”

  When the trail of handmaidens left her, Sansa crossed her arms and let her eyes wander around her large apartments. Seeing the tapestry of Westeros on the wall, she walked towards it, her head held high.

  _What’s happening to me?_ she wondered for the thousandth time in these past weeks. How could she not wish to return to Westeros now that a convenient reason presented itself? _It is all so strange_. Sansa had longed for more than a year now to see her home, but now she wanted to go back with Sandor beside her. With the intent of fleeing Norvos to get away from Magister Nervere, she could very well tell Sandor that she wished to return to Pentos, and once they were there they hopefully and finally procure a ship heading north, or at least get some long last news of Westeros and the war. But if she was honest with herself, it seemed that she didn’t want to go back just yet _._

_I love you, mother_ , she whispered, as her hand grazed the place she supposed was Riverrun on the tapestry _. I love you, Robb_ , she whispered, touching the North. _But I love Sandor too, in some way now, and if I return to you now I’m going to regret doing it so soon_. Sansa suddenly felt like crying. She didn’t want to be selfish and forget that her family must surely need her just as much as she needed them, but once she was back with them, Sandor wouldn’t have her the way he could have her now. _And neither would I be able to be with him like I am now, even if I can’t really do anything about what I feel for him_.

  Sandor’s heavy knock interrupted her musings. He knocked three long times and one short one in the code they had established. Brushing an unshed tear from her eyes, Sansa sniffed and straightened up. “Come in, Edric,” she said in a strong voice.

  Sandor opened the door and stepped inside, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world despite his usual frown. That changed quickly enough when he saw her. Sansa heard his breath catch in his throat before he blinked and simply stood there staring at her, from head to foot. “Seven hells,” he rasped said in a low voice.

  She couldn’t keep a straight face then. “Is that meant to be a compliment?”

  Sandor absentmindedly ran his hand though his hair, and nodded. Sansa took this moment to look at what he was wearing. She felt butterflies fluttering in her tummy at the sight of the imposing build he had, and at how wide his muscular chest was. _He looks so dangerous_ , she thought, strangely pleased.

  Sandor began to walk towards her, and she lowered her face to hide her grin _. It worked! He called me beautiful before, and now he can’t even speak!_ When he was in front of her, Sandor lifted her jaw in a grip as hard as an iron trap, and tucked away a strand of hair that fell across her face.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  Sansa did, and took this moment to take in every line, crater and deep crack that was Sandor’s face. She stared at the good side of his face that had a gaunt air to it, along with a heavy brow, sharp cheekbones, a large hooked nose, and dark hair that he would always wear long and brush sideways to hide the lack of it on the other side.

  Then she looked at what the fire had made of half of his face. At how it had melted away his ear till there was nothing left but a hole. And at how it had turned his skin into slick black flesh hard as leather, and created a mass of twisted scars everywhere. A hint of bone where his flesh had been seared away was also visible, yet the eyes that looked down at her now were grey and familiar. _As grey and familiar as Father and Arya’s eyes, or the stones of Winterfell_.

  This was the face which she had come to treasure and cherish above all others. A face she once couldn’t bear to look upon.

  “You look different, little bird,” he finally said in a deep rasp.

  “I am not a child anymore, Sandor. I’ve grown up.”

  He cleared his throat at that, his eyes watching hers. “I can see that.”

  _Do you really?_ She was nervous of what he might say next. _Please_ , she prayed fervently. _Say it. Say what your eyes are assuring me of_.

  “What’s that around your eyes?” he asked her, letting go of her face.

  “Khol,” she replied a bit startled and crestfallen. “Every lady at the ball will be wearing it around their eyes in this fashion.”

  Someone knocked at the door just then and they heard Urroc calling, “Lady Alysanne, are you ready? The ball has just begun.”

  Both Sandor and Sansa stepped away from each other, feeling strange. Sandor walked towards the door, and he almost wrenched it open off its hinges, startling the bald steward.

  “Careful there,” the man reprimanded Sandor. “These doors are made of rare wood from the forest of–”

  “Do I look like I give a rat’s arse about that? You came for us, didn’t you? Well, then, let’s get going,” Sandor told Urroc, in High Valyrian.

  Sansa wasn’t sure if she should laugh or scold Sandor, so she ended up chuckling and throwing him a look.

  “My lady, you–you look simply beautiful, if I may be allowed to say so,” Urroc told her, gaping at her.

  “You may, and I thank you,” she said, putting on her fur-trimmed jacket. “I do hope we fit in among the Magister’s guests.”

  Urroc couched and said, “If I may be so bold, I believe you will be the most beautiful woman tonight.”

  Sandor gave out a long rasping laugh that echoed off the walls, a laugh choked with contempt. “Will you be asking her for a dance, steward?”

  The old man turned pale at that and Sansa quickly moved to his side, taking his arm so he could escort her away from Sandor’s taunting.

  “Don’t mind him,” she told the steward kindly. “His temper doesn’t bode well with many.”

  Urroc looked like he would certainly like to say he agreed, but only held his bald head high and said, “It wasn’t my place to speak so, my lady. Forgive me.”

  “Of course, I do. Don’t regret speaking your mind.” _I know how that feels and I do not wish it for anyone_ , she almost told him.

  “I thank you, my lady,” Urroc said smiling, and patting her hand like an agreeable grandfather.

  Her sworn shield walked behind them, snorting at every word they said. As they descended to the first level of the manor, Sansa caught glimpses from the windows they crossed of the guests arriving in palanquins and sedan chairs, flanked by guards of the Bearded Priests. The manse was decorating with a thousand candles, hundreds of lanterns, and dozens of lit fireplaces. Chandeliers decorated the ceiling, and servants scurried everywhere with trays of goblets and plates with food on their hands.

  Sansa was starting to feel quite nervous, but reminded herself that she had been raised in all manners of courtesy, and had lived in and survived the court of Joffrey Baratheon. _If I managed to live in that den of lions and survived, I can very well go through tonight triumphant_.

  When they finally reached the room where the ball would be held, Sansa gasped. _It’s as large as the Throne Room_ , she thought. Urroc had advised them not to wander here yesterday since it was being prepared for tonight, so she had had no idea that this place could hold such a grand room. The ball just oozed opulence and majesty and luxury, and Sansa realized that Arman Nervere may very well be even richer than the Lannisters. _If things were different, I would consider asking him to aid Robb in his war_ , she gathered, knowing that couldn’t happen. _If Arman aids anyone in the War of the Five Kings, it will be the Martells, and they declared for Joffrey after they agreed to marry their prince to Myrcella._

  Sansa’s eyes quickly looked about her, to see if she could discern any Dornish in the crowd before her, but stopped when a young servant offered to take her fur-trimmed jacket away. Sansa noticed that none of the women present were wearing their jackets, so she nodded and took her warm jacket off.

  Urroc then said, “Here I must leave you, my lady. It would not be fit for you to enter the ball upon the arm of a steward. If you would wait here for a moment, I shall go and tell the High Magister that you have arrived, and he will come for you.”

  “Very well,” she said, giving the steward a smile as her eyes traveled to the nobles around her who were looking at her intently. _At me and at Sandor,_ for he had come up to stand behind her, before he leaned over her shoulder.

  “Fuck me, but this is going to be a long night,” he rasped, yet there was a tone of amusement in his voice.

  She couldn’t stop herself from elbowing him. “Stop,” she hissed. “Don’t say that. I’m so nervous right now. My heart is going as fast as a rabbit’s.”

  “Bugger that, little bird,” he whispered near her ear. “You are a northern wolf. You’ll devour this flock of puffed-up sheep and toads, and leave me nothing but the bones before this night is done. Ah, and look! Here comes the leader of the sheeps.”

  Sansa saw that Arman Nervere was indeed striding over towards them, looking tall and handsome and splendid.

  A startled cry escaped her lips when she felt Sandor lay a heavy hand on her bare shoulder. Watching Arman walking nearer, a beaming smile on his face, Sansa heard Sandor whispering behind her, “You’ll shine tonight, Princess Stark,” and felt him suddenly slide his hand slowly down her back, his rough knuckles slowly caressing her skin in an intimate touch in a crowded place and drawing a moan from her. He stopped his hand at the small of her back and left it there even after their host reached them.

  Arman gaped at her as if he had never seen a woman before, and reacted just as Sandor had when he saw her dressed up and ready. Those sapphire blue eyes stared at her as if she was the most precious thing in this world, but if Sansa’s heart was beating wildly it wasn’t because of the way the man before her looked at her, but because of the way the man behind her was touching her skin, letting his hand rest low on her back.

  “Alysanne, you look… you look–you are precious,” Magister Nervere finally said.

  Sandor’s snort brought Sansa back to reality; she shook her head, and became conscious of her surroundings once again. People were standing beside them, muttering who this lady was and who that tall ugly man behind her was.

  “It’s because of your gifts,” she replied at last. “This gown is truly beautiful. Thank you, Magister.”

  Even now she recalled her courtesies and so didn’t think it fit to call Arman by his name in front of the people he essentially ruled.

  “Nonsense,” their host said, waving a hand, and walking up the steps to meet her. “You look like Queen Nymeria of the Rhoyne must have looked during the feasts she hosted after winning her battles.”

  _That was the queen that Arya named her direwolf after_ , Sansa thought as Sandor laughed. The sound was iron scraping over stone.

  “Ah, Edric! My other honored guest! Welcome to the ball. Don’t you agree that your lady looks more beautiful than any other being on this world?”

  “I’ve always heard Nymeria wasn’t pretty, so it beats me how you can see any comparison,” Sandor replied, his fingers slowly caressing her back.

  Sansa gave up any hope of trying to ignore how good it felt to have him doing that, and instead hid her smile behind her hand, saying, “Magister, do you know if Frema and Vintos have arrived already?”

  “They have, should you like to greet them?”

  “Oh, yes,” she exclaimed, blushing because the sound came out as a whimper.

  Arman offered Sansa his arm and she felt Sandor give her a gentle push forward. She took Arman’s arm and glanced back at Sandor. He smirked at her and winked an eye before he started following them. Within a moment, his brooding expression reappeared, and he looked just as menacing as he had always done in the Red Keep as he guarded Joffrey.

  Arman noticed that she was looking back at Edric while he guided her into the ball, and leaned closer, whispering in the same ear Sandor had moments ago, “Please, Alys, call me Arman.”

  Sansa looked at the handsome man before her, and frowned. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “That you don’t have to call me Magister just because we are here,” he explained patiently. “You are my honored guest. If anyone gets to call me my name and not my title, it is you.”

  She smiled prettily at the Magister, hoping that would be enough answer for him. Sansa began to look around her, taking in the guests and the room’s decorations. She noticed that almost every woman was looking at her with the same look Queen Cersei had done so on different occasions, and all the men were gaping at her. _Haven’t they ever seen a woman from Westeros before_ , she wondered, getting a little irritated.

  Magister Nervere was walking beside her with a proud smile that made Sansa wonder if she wasn’t a kind of horse being auctioned at a market–a fancy market to be sure, but a market nonetheless. When he leaned closer once again and pointed to a corner, saying, “There are your friends,” Sansa felt a heavy weight being lifted from her shoulders. Frema and Vintos were indeed standing on a corner of the large room, huddled close together with drinks in their hands, looking at everyone and everything with wide eyes.

  She would have hurried her pace to get to them sooner, but just as she was about to do so a very big man with scented oil on his hair and a belly like a boulder, suddenly stopped before her and Arman, with a lean tall woman at his side and boys a little older than Sansa behind them.

  “High Magister,” the big man said, bowing. His companions did the same, and Sansa noticed that the tall woman had a snake coiled around her arm.

  “This is turning out to be a splendid affair. Simply splendid!” the man told Arman before his little watery eyes fell on Sansa. “Ah! And could this be the charming guest you spoke about?”

_Arman has been speaking about me to other people?_ She wondered, feeling ill at ease, as their host gazed at her with a warm look and nodded.

  “She is indeed. Lady Alysanne Mallister, please allow me to introduce you to the noble Ukrent Yutzren, owner of the Bank of Great Norvos, and a longtime friend of mine. And this is his lovely wife Menen, and their sons Ukrun and Uktru.”

  The Yutzren family all bowed to her, and Sansa smiled and spoke in her best High Valyrian, “I am honored to become acquainted with you.”

  For a moment, Sansa considered introducing Sandor to them, but didn’t since she remembered that they should draw the less attention possible to him. _Mellario and her Dornish retainers surely have ears in this place._

“My pleasure, to be sure,” the big man said, as his wife cowered behind her wide husband, and the sons looked at Sandor’s face with a twisted fascination.

  Sansa noticed that the tall wife of the bank owner was looking at her again, and even sniffed at her with a patronizing air, which was funny given that her husband and her sons couldn’t stop looking at her. One of the boys even grinned wickedly at her, making Sansa look away.

  “Lovely, lovely indeed,” the big man said, before returning his attention to Arman. “I was wondering if we could have a talk before the dance, Arman. The Iron Bank sent me another envoy this afternoon, pressing me to–”

  “Please, Ukrent, can you wait until tomorrow?” Arman said, in a tone that implied he was having none of that tonight, and yet had courtesy in it. “I promised to meet you first thing in the morning and granted you a gathering with the council. Don’t ask me to do more, at least not today. Tonight we must all enjoy ourselves. Please, excuse us.”

  Arman led her away from the little party, and mumbled something to her which she barely heard. She was beaming at Frema and Vintos, who had finally seen her and Sandor, and who were waving at them enthusiastically. _Oh, my dear friends._

  Frema and Sansa held hands the moment they reached the married couple, and it was hard not to hug her and Vintos.

  “Oh, I missed you so much!”

  “We missed you as well,” Frema said, as the Magister shook Vintos’ hand. “And you as well, Edric.”

  Sandor rasped his greetings to their friends as Vintos said, “Oh, Alys, the Magister was kind enough to give us the most grand of apartments!”

  Arman laughed, showing them his perfect white teeth. “I am glad to hear that you liked them, my friends.”

  Sansa smiled at the Magister for making Vintos and Frema happy, but wanted to snort the way Sandor did at hearing Arman calling _her_ friends _his_. She looked over at Sandor, wanting to roll her eyes along with his at the silliness of Arman Nervere, but instead caught him staring at her with a stormy look in his eyes. She wanted to ask him what the matter was, when Arman said, “I have arranged for you and your friends to sit with me on the high table, Alys, where the magisters of the city and their guests shall sit for dinner. But in the meanwhile, Frema and Vintos, would you mind if I take Alysanne with me? I want to introduce her to some friends and acquaintances.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about us, High Magister,” Vintos assured Arman. “We are happy to stay here and look at everyone.”

  “You know, Klente Nubroc is here. I could introduce you to him before the dance.”

  Sansa saw Vintos look both amazed and scared when he heard that.

  “Who is Klente Nubroc?” she asked, curiously.

  “The most influential man in the trade of tapestries and other woven goods,” Vintos told her. “He is the man who owns every weaver shop in the city.”

  “And he has been a good friend to me since we were children. I even traveled with him to Lys once. I shall make a strong case of making him aware of your talents in that weaver’s shop you work at.”

  _How does he know that Vintos works there or that he has talent?_ Sansa wondered as Arman led her away from her friends, Sandor trailing behind them like a dark shadow she never wanted to be rid of.

  Arman Nervere ended up introducing her–or parading her, like Sandor would later call it–to every single noble in that room; from the magisters of the city, to the leader of the Bearded Priests, to the short man he trained at swordplay with. Sansa could remember all the sigils and shields of the houses of the Seven Kingdoms, but there were none in the Free Cities, and there were a hundred guests at the ball, so she had thought it would be impossible to memorize one name when she had to learn another a moment afterwards. Even though she had no real notion of how exactly the Nine Free Cities were ruled, she pleasantly surprised herself. She managed to remember who the guests with the oldest names or purest blood were after Magister Nervere introduced them to her, and never confused them with the nobles who had relatives in Myr and the ones who had family ties back in Slaver’s Bay when Arman asked her what she thought of them afterwards. He even looked proud of her for some reason.

  She got a good look at what the nobles that lived behind the walls of the High City were like, remembering the days when she had first arrived to Great Norvos and had longed to see what life was like up here. Almost all of the rich lords and ladies spoke too quickly for her to understand them without Arman’s help, but she could know by the way their eyes looked at her and Sandor, or the way their mouths twisted into smiles, whether they found Magister Nervere’s honored guests agreeable or not.

  The one good thing about the women present was that since all of them were wearing the same cut in their gowns as she was, and were exposing their limbs and back just as hers were, Sansa stopped feeling self-conscious about how much she was revealing, and instead spent the night staring at the hairstyles of both the men and the women present, or the way the older ladies would paint their lips a deep purple while the younger girls painted them in a lighter tone. It even made her dizzy just to breathe all the perfumes they were all wearing.

  Though their fashion was very different and strange to Sansa’s eyes, she could appreciate the beauty in it; whenever she chanced to look at something she liked, from the beautiful colors that some of the nobles dyed their hair with. Everyone looked so foreign and exotic that Sansa’s eyes were constantly drawn to them, the same way theirs were drawn to her and Sandor.

  The only unpleasant introduction was when Magister Umere–the old man whose good deeds had gained him the honor of having this event dedicated to him–told Sandor that he could die happy now that he had seen an honorable knight from the Sunset Kingdoms. Sansa saw Sandor set his jaw in anger before he spat, “I am no knight. Knights have no bloody honor. If you are as close to death’s door as you look, I would think it is about time you learned that, magister.”

  The old man’s wife, who had fine noble features, snapped her ornate fan closed and stalked away, head held high, with her wounded pride, while Arman and Sansa apologized to old Magister Umere for Sandor’s words.

  After an hour of saying “How do you do?” and “It’s so pleasant to make your acquaintance,” and of practicing for when she would be back in Westeros and expected to play the gracious courteous role of being Sansa Stark, it was time for dinner.

  She sat with Arman to her right and Sandor to her left. Frema sat to Sandor’s left and Vintos to his wife’s left, and they all shared the high table with the most important people in Great Norvos–with the men who ruled the city under the title of magisters and their families. Singers sat before the high table, filling the night with music. A juggler kept a cascade of burning clubs spinning through the air. And Arman was the soul of courtesy, talking to Sansa all night, showering her with compliments, sharing little bits of court gossip that drove fake laughs from her. _Arman may be drunk with the magic of the night, but I’m not_. She was no longer swept away by beauties like she had once been. She could appreciate them and like them, but no longer did they blind her from what lay beneath the surface.

  The first course was stuffed grape leaves with raisins, peppers, onions and mushrooms, followed by quails drowned in butter, spiced with saffron from Qarth and pepper from Volantis. Then there was a kid that had been roasted with lemon and honey and was stuffed with raisins, carrots, dates, onions, mushrooms, and fiery dragon peppers. When the meat was brought out, he served her himself, slicing a queen’s portion from the kid’s joint, smiling as he laid it on her plate. Later came baked apples fragrant with cinnamon and lemon cakes frosted in sugar, but by then Sansa was so stuffed that she could not manage more than two little lemon cakes, as much as she loved them.

  “Your innkeeper told me that you were fond of lemon cakes, so I had this baked for you.”

  “You are so thoughtful and kind,” she said, as Sandor cursed out loud how bored he was beside her. _When did he ask her?_ she wondered angrily. _I should tell Medra to stop talking about me to Arman._

  All the nobles sipped their wine from glass flutes, but Sandor preferred to do so from a cup and a flagon all to his own.

  “I can understand why the girl with the red hair is there, but that man with those twisted burns and that couple that looks straight out of the Low City shouldn’t be sitting in a place of honor,” Sansa overheard one woman muttering to her husband at one point.

  Sansa looked over at Sandor sitting beside her, drinking his wine and staring in front of him, looking at everyone. She began to feel her tummy flutter nervously as she recalled that he had never seen her dance before.

  At long last, and with a belly that was threatening to burst, Sansa finally heard the music that announced the beginning of the dancing. She was looking forward to this part more than any other tonight, because she longed to dance once again, but mostly so she could get up from the high table where she felt a bit conspicuous.

  “Would you grant me the honor of dancing with me?” Arman asked her as he stood up beside her and offered her his hand.

  _It isn’t as you are giving me much choice_ , Sansa thought as she donned her smile and nodded, taking his hand.

  She let her free hand brush lightly against Sandor’s back as she stepped behind him before leaving the high table, feeling everyone’s eyes on her and Arman, but only caring about the pair of grey ones she loved to drown herself in.

  “Will we be starting the dance alone?” Sansa asked Magister Nervere as she noticed that they were the only ones in the dance floor.

  “It’s tradition,” Arman replied, letting his dimples show. He led her to the center of the room and stood in front of her before smiling and saying, “I’ll take the lead. Just follow me.”

_I would rather follow Sandor_ , Sansa thought as Arman stepped closer to her, bringing his hand to her back. Her hair avoided him to touch her bare back, for which she was dully thankful, and as he brought his free hand to hold her own, she placed hers lightly on his shoulder.

  A different tune began to play then, and Arman Nervere began to lead Sansa in a dance, his eyes never leaving her face, as he looked down at her. Sansa instead scanned the room, sometimes looking for Sandor, and at others settling her gaze on Arman’s neck to avoid having to look at him. At least Arman proved to be an excellent dancer and had no trouble in leading her around the dance floor, Sansa had to admit. There was even a small moment when she felt it was very nice to dance this way with someone who could do it flawlessly,

  “You are a man of easy smiles,” she told him once, as she looked up at him sharply when he drew her closer to him, gently.

  He laughed. “Am I really? Maybe you are the reason that draws so many smiles to my face.”

  _Is that supposed to be his idea of praising me?_ she wondered, as she tried to find some appropriate reply.

  Everyone was allowed to join in with the dancing as the second song began, and soon enough Sansa found herself being asked for the pleasure and honor of her company, as all the lords and nobles of Norvos asked for her hand. She graced them all with a smile and a nod of the head, and tried to make the best of the music even when her partner was such a bad dancer that he kept stepping on her feet and begging her pardon nervously.

  Sansa enjoyed most the dances she shared with Vintos and Arman, but would always be looking around to see where Sandor had gone to. She would find him circulating the room over and over again as he watched her dancing with everyone but himself. His hands rested on his swordbelt for most of the time, and the frown on his face and the twitch of his mouth drove everyone away from him. _That’s what he wants_ , she thought sadly. _He wants to be left alone, and will bite anyone’s head off if they try to engage him in some conversation_.

  Norvoshi people were lovers of song, and the dancing went on well past midnight, by which time Sansa’s eyelids were closing more often than not, and she felt limp with exhaustion. She finally managed to get away from Arman, and was making her way to the high table to see if she could find Sandor there and ask him to please accompany her back to her rooms, since she was already feeling tired, when a man who was shorter than her and wearing orange robes, stepped into her way, looking so intently into her eyes that she felt a shiver run through her.

  _Gods be good, who did that to his face?_ She wondered, as she took in his appearance. Red flames were inked across his cheeks and forehead, making Sansa recall that she had once heard that the slaves of Volantis were forced to endure being tattooed on their faces as marked of their profession or low position in life. He was a thin man, with yellowish skin, dark eyes, cracked sharp nails that were longer than hers, and had grey hair _. Is he the friend from Volantis Arman spoke of last night?_

  “Excuse me,” she said, gulping and trying to move around the man, but he stepped in front of her again.

  Sansa met his brown eyes and said, “Would you please let me pass?”

  “I know who you are,” the man said, in the Common Tongue, his accent heavily flavored with the accents of the east.

  Sansa’s heart chilled at those words. _He can’t know. How could he know?_

  The man gave her a sly smile and said in a furtive slow voice, “You are Lady Alysanne Mallister, are you not? I have longed to finally set eyes on you for many weeks. Arman has spoken a great deal about you to me.”

  Sansa’s eyes searched the room for Sandor, but for once she could not find him.

  “I fear I do not know you,” she told the man, having no idea why he made her feel so uneasy.

  “I’m Quallo, a servant of the Lord of Light, and a friend to Magister Nervere.” 

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, but if you’ll excuse me, someone’s expecting me,” she told him, finally seeing Sandor. He was walking towards her, an angry scowl on his face.

  “That someone is coming this way, my lady,” he told her. _How can he know when he is not facing Sandor?_ “I shall leave you, but would you welcome some advice from R’hllor?”

  She nodded more out of her desire to be rid of him than curiosity.

  Quallo stepped closer to her and placed two long fingers on her wrist, intensely looking into her eyes.

  “A new flame is kindled for every flame that gutters out. Remember those words and treasure them to your heart, for the time is approaching when you shall find yourself in need of comfort, and will be blinded to the opportunity before you. I have seen you in my fires, as well as the man who guards you.”

  And with that he left her, quite puzzled _. Gods be good, what does that mean?_

  “Who was that?” Sandor asked her, once he reached her some moments later.

  Sansa didn’t know why she felt afraid, but there was no mistaking that familiar weight in the pit of her stomach. She looked up at Sandor and whispered in a trembling voice, “He is a friend of Arman’s. He said he had seen us in his fires and that the time when I would need comfort was approaching.”

 

***

 

  “Seven hells”, Sandor rasped. _Who the fuck was this Quallo? I knew Nervere’s stupid faith in a fire god could not mean anything good_. He wished that tattooed man would shove his advice up his own arse, and never show his ugly face outside one of his beloved god’s temples. _Seen us in his fires, has he? Bloody idiot_. Yet the bit with Sansa needing to be comforted gave him pause.

  Sandor looked down at the little bird for a moment and said, “Do you want to leave now?”

  She nodded and he began to steer her around the crowd towards the door. Sansa lifted her head and looked about the room, squinting. “I guess I won’t need the fur-trimmed jacket now. Oh, but I don’t see Frema or Vintos”

  “They were dancing the last time I saw them. Let’s hurry before the sodding high sheep finds us.”

  The little bird laughed at that, and increased her pace. As they made their way to their rooms on the seventh floor of the house, Sandor recalled the whole evening in his mind. _Sansa was certainly Nervere’s main attraction_. The way Arman had escorted her about the room, presenting her to everyone, had made his insides burn. Every touch of his filthy hands on Sansa’s skin and all the smiles she had to give him drove a sharp knife into his belly, and whenever they danced together that knife would twist painfully inside him.

  Even though he was jealous, Sandor had to admit that Sansa was good at interacting with and complimenting nobles. _She was certainly the most beautiful woman at the ball tonight_ , he thought, _and knew how to charm her way into people’s hearts. She would have been a good queen despite having to endure Joffrey’s cruelty._

  Sandor remembered the time when he had told Sansa that he would have stood between her and Joffrey once she was the queen. _She was born to rule._ Maybe that was one of the reasons why Nervere had paraded her around his neighbors and friends with that stupid grin on his face all night. _He too can see how good she is at facing any pit of_ _vipers_ , Sandor thought with a foreboding feeling. _Fuck me, if I managed to get her away from Joffrey, this fucking Norvoshi lamb won’t hurt her_.

  _At least the evening’s finally done now_ , he thought, sighing, as the most beautiful little bird in this world took his arm and tried to poorly conceal the yawn that escaped her. He had passed the time by watching Sansa dancing with every bleeding man in the room but him, and imagining how it would be like to stick his longsword in every son of a whore who gazed too long at the little bird’s cleavage and bare back. _It would have been better if I was the only one to see her in that fucking arousing gown._ It would have been nice if she had worn it for me and it hadn’t come from bloody Nervere.

  He couldn’t stay still as he watched her being touched by others, even when it was innocent enough. He had walked around the room over and over again, always ready to draw out his sword and spill the guts and blood of anyone and everyone if things went wrong. He could find comfort in the fact that once they were back in Westeros with her family, most men would try to look with a certain measure of respect at the sister of the Young Wolf, for Sandor had no desire to repeat tonight’s experiences.

  Remembering the Starks brought back to his mind the conversation they had had before the ball; Sansa had told him that it would be pleasant if they could stay in Norvos for a while longer. _Visiting Vintos’ wretched village will indeed be preferable to staying in this house again_. It warmed his heart that Sansa wanted to stay here with him.

  Once they were inside her rooms, Sandor was pleased to see that the sound from the ball could barely be heard up here. Suddenly a loud thunder was heard splitting the air in two, and the dark sky outside was illuminated with a scattering of red light.

  “Oh! Are those fireworks?” Sansa said, snatching one of the few remaining lit candles and heading to the terrace. “Oh, they are! Sandor, come have a look!”

  He walked reluctantly to her, more out of amusement at the way she reacted to something like fireworks, than a desire to see them himself.

  “They’re alright,” he told her, as Sansa grabbed his hand. He didn’t tell her what he was really thinking though, that the sight of the red sky brought to mind the night they had escaped King’s Landing as green fire lit up the sky, the night the Blackwater was burning. _I put a dagger to her throat and made her sing me a song._ He told her about it, but she only looked up at him with a wise stare and turned away from the fireworks display, sitting at the edge of her bed, as she took her shoes off.

  “Maybe you did put a dagger to my throat, but you also ended up saving my life that night,” she said, rubbing her ankle and stifling another yawn. “And you don’t have to take a song from me now. Just ask and I’ll sing one for you gladly.”

  “You haven’t sung me a song for a while,” he told her, leaning against a column, with his arms crossed against his chest, weighing her reaction.

  Sansa stopped rubbing her tired feet and looked at him for a long time, making Sandor wonder if she was waiting for him to rephrase his petition. When he was about to speak because he could not hold his silence anymore, desperate to know what she was thinking, Sansa surprised him by standing up on the bed.

  “Come here,” she simply said.

  _Go back_ , his better sense advised him. _Go back to your rooms. You are under Nervere’s roof. You can have her bloody song tomorrow_. Yet his heart ruled his better sense tonight, for he walked over to her, noticing that now her eyes were on a level with his and that black decoration around her eyes gave her face a haunting look that drove him mad.

  “Hold me,” Sansa said, those blue eyes that looked like a sunlit sea never leaving his face. _And there was a time when she wouldn’t be able to do this for the space of a heartbeat_ , he thought, amazed at how far they’d come from the night when they escaped King’s Landing.

  For some reason Sandor forgot to struggle against what this might lead to, and so he stepped right in front of her, his shins hitting the mattress. Sansa took hold of his hand while she placed the other over his heart.

  “What in the seven bleeding hells are you doing?” he growled at her, suddenly suspicious about this position, since he had just seen her dancing just like this with other men.

  “Shh,” she purred in a voice that dripped honey. “Don’t say anything. Don’t talk. I just want us to stay like this. I want to imagine how it would have been like to dance with _you_.”

  _For fuck’s sake_ , he thought, angrily as she gave him a measuring look again. He was about to disentangle himself when all of a sudden Sansa brought her head to rest on the crook of his neck.

  Swaying slightly were he stood due to Sansa moving a little back and forward, it didn’t take long for Sandor to start relishing in the closeness of Sansa’s face on his neck after he got over what she was actually _doing_. He felt Sansa’s nose inhale in his scent, rubbing the tip of it against his warm neck. That gesture felt so good that Sandor ended up bringing himself closer to her as he finally laid his hand on the small of the little bird’s bare back for the second time tonight, while he his other hand wonder to her hip, caressing her there.

  He must have moved her closer to him a bit too roughly for she gasped. It was barely more than a whimper, so he paid it no heed since Sansa didn’t lift her face away from this mesmerizing closeness they were feeling.

  Sandor closed his eyes and began to nuzzle against Sansa’s neck and hair just like she had started doing to him at some point. She smelled so good that he wasn’t even aware that he had started caressing the little bird’s exposed skin on her back with his fingers.

  After some moments, Sansa extended both her palms against his chest and slowly but firmly began to slide them up towards the back of his neck, until she was completely pressed against him, so close that his throbbing cock was right up against her belly. The little bird amazed him by bringing herself even closer to him. What _the fuck is she doing? Surely she can feel my need against her_ , he thought, dazedly.

  “This feels so nice,” she whispered, her voice soft as a kiss, moving back and forth, swaying his body along with hers in this intimate moment that was more like hugging than dancing. “Do you remember the first time I sang you Florian and Jonquil?”

  “Yes,” he rasped hoarsely, though in truth his answer came out more like a grunt. Sansa’s lips suddenly brushed slightly against his neck until she was bringing her cheek right against his burned one. Her warm breath was tickling his ear as she held on tightly to the fabric of his tunic, twisting it in her tight grip. Sandor swayed where he stood, affected by the closeness of her body against his.

  When Sansa moaned after he pressed himself closer to her, his hand still tracing circles on the cold skin of her back, she brought her head back to hide it in his neck, inhaling deeply, as his touch brought a tremble running through her body. Sandor didn’t want to push things too far and least of all when he finally remembered in whose house they were, so he just crossed his arms around her, holding her tight as she did the same with him, feeling their heats fall into a rhythm where they were beating as one.

  After a time, Sandor realized that she was falling asleep, and slowly and gently he began to regretfully disentangle himself from her. Maybe it was because she was practically asleep now and wouldn’t notice, but whatever the reason was, Sandor’s hand came up from Sansa’s back to sweep her long hair back from her shoulder. Holding her up with one arm, and holding back her hair with the other, Sandor brought his scarred lips once more to the crook of her neck, but this time he kissed her there. After closing his eyes so he could remember this moment better, he brushed his teeth along the length of the little bird’s smooth shoulder blade, relishing at the feeling of his steel hard cock against her tummy and her breasts pushed against his wide chest. He then nibbled at her skin, grazing his teeth against her shoulder, before Sansa began to shift a little, making him regretfully take his head away from the warmth and safety of her neck. If she woke up and wanted to take things further, she might end up regretting it after he lost his control.

  _She’s going to have to sleep with her gown on tonight_ , Sandor thought, as he finally helped lay a sleepy Sansa on the bed and directed her head to the pillows. She stretched out on the bed like a lazy cat.

  Sandor stood there staring at her for some moments, remembering how he had caressed her back before they entered the ball to give her courage and to see how she would react to him touching her so. She didn’t seem to find it unpleasant, he had learned happily, as he found the resolution from somewhere to put his hand upon her skin after he encouraged her to bring out the wolf in her. He leaned down and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear that was driving him mad for some reason, while she kept on muttering in her sleep.

_And to think that such a delicate thing as her thinks she can keep me safe_. Looking down at Sansa’s sleeping form, Sandor found himself remembering life before he came into this life and all the shit that had happened to him. He was a broken man, but at least he had aided Sansa in seeing that she could safe herself from suffering the same fate as his long ago. _But here we are, and now the little bird wants to keep me safe_. He found that notion amusing, but also strange and not so bad. _What does it mean if we both want to keep each other safe from the world?_

  His eyes began to trace every line and curve of Sansa’s body, taking in how much she had grown.

  “Good night, little bird,” he whispered in a low rasp, covering her with the blankets. Then Sandor traced a long wide finger down the little bone of her freckled nose, watching with amusement how it moved of its own accord, before walking away to the door. He closed it behind him and sighed as he reached his own rooms, stretching his arms and relishing in the knowledge that tomorrow they would be away from this place and back at their house at the _Three Bells Inn_ once more, sharing the same bed. As he was about to close his eyes, the image of the man with the flames tattooed across his face who had talked to Sansa came to his mind, and Sandor wondered what the hell the cryptic message he had told the little bird could mean. _Fuck, but I’m tired._

“Stupid bloody poxy bastard!”he cursed out loud before sleep took him as quickly as it had Sansa moments before.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Dear readers, thank you so much for sticking me with me for more than 20 long chapters. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!! :D  
> \- I would like to thank Milady of York from westeros.org for writing a very interesting and wonderful essay about how meaningful it is the act of touching in Sandor and Sansa’s relationship. It was posted recently over at the From Pawn to Player: Rethinking Sansa threads, and here is the link. Read it, you’ll enjoy it! ;)  
> http://asoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/topic/75683-from-pawn-to-player-rethinking-sansa-xiv/page__st__300  
> Edit: I am so sorry. Apparently, i don't know why the link won't take you directly to the page :( if someone knows how to fix it, could you please tell me? Thank you!!  
> In any case, it's the XIV thread, at page 16...


	22. The First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Disclaimers  
> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)  
> *For your truthful supporting help in this chapters my betas, I thank you: onborrowedwings, nysandra & swiftsnowmane :D  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.  
> *I would like to thank luvxena for her help with this chapter as well :D  
> *Warnings: Dub-con and then consensual

  The sun was merciless as it cast its light upon them all. Sansa was on the marble steps outside the Great Sept of Baelor, waiting for her prince to grant her father mercy. Despite the brightness of the day, the people around her- the queen, Joffrey, the members of the small council, the Lannister guards, and the crowd in front of her- were all shadows to her; dark shapes that shifted and changed as she tried to discern their faces.

  _Not all their faces_. Sansa could see two people. The executioner and the man condemned to judgment. When Ser Ilyn drew Ice from the scabbard at his back, she suddenly knew–no, remembered–how this would end.

  “No! Stop him! Please, stop him!” she screamed with all her might, as a shadow behind her suddenly grabbed her arm in a vicious unyielding grip that just wouldn’t let go. _I’m dreaming. This is a dream. I’ve lived this before. If I just close my eyes it will be over_.

  She was about to do so, but in that moment her father turned around to look at her and Sansa felt her knees going weak and her will shatter as she screamed, “No!”, for instead of her father, it was the burned face of Sandor Clegane bound and on his knees, the one who was awaiting death. _No, I said I would protect him! This can’t be happening! I promised him I wouldn’t let anyone hurt him ever again._

  “Sandor, fight! Please, do something, please, please,” she screamed, even as Ser Ilyn turned around to face her, a hideous wicked grin on his face. “Take me instead, Ser Ilyn, just don’t hurt him!”

  She trembled, tears sliding down her cheeks, for she saw that it wasn’t really the mute knight who was holding her father’s sword, but a man with tattoos on his face in the shapes of flames. In one swift movement, Ice struck Sandor’s head off. The floor shook and shattered as the head hit the floor, blood flying in every direction, and that was the last she knew before she fainted.

  Sansa woke up with a sharp intake of breath. Her chest was heaving and in that mad timeframe before realizing that it had been a nightmare, it took her a moment to remember where she was. Blinking in the darkness, she took some deep breaths to try and steady her wildly beating heart. It was just a nightmare. _It wasn’t real, calm down, Sansa Stark_.

  She squinted through the darkness and touched her forehead. Her fingers felt light drops of sweat, which was odd because she was shivering. _I can’t remember what the nightmare was about_ , she realized. But it had certainly been as bad as the ones she’d had about the mob attacking her the day Princess Myrcella had been shipped off to Dorne.

  After a few more moments of trying hard to recall what she had just dreamed without sucess, Sansa rested her head on the pillow, sighing. _How I wish Sandor was here_ , she thought, gazing at the lonely pillow and place beside her. He would always comfort her whenever she had a bad dream, and it would always appear to Sansa as if he were saving her once again from the man with the garlicky breath who had sought to hurt her long ago, in the streets of King’s Landing.

  Feeling goose pimples on her arms due to a chill draft, she realized that she had been sleeping in with the gown she’d worn at the ball. _Oh, well, it isn’t as if I were going to keep it anyways_ , she thought drowsily as sleep took hold of her once more. When she woke up once again in the morning, Sansa had no recollection whatsoever of waking up in the middle of the night or of the nightmare she’d had.

  Sansa sighed, content, as she stretched out in the bed, replaying the memories of last night over in her head. _The ball was certainly a success for Arman_ , she gathered. _And I did enjoy some of it, I suppose_. Yet the important thing was that Frema and Vintos had looked as if they were having the time of their lives. _It would be so nice if Vintos and Frema could come along with Sandor and me the day we head for Westeros._ Yet that would be too much to ask of her friends. _Their lives are here, but that doesn’t meant I can’t wish it could be otherwise._

  _I’ll have to settle with Sandor and I going for a short time to the village where Frema and Vintos were born, in order to get away from Arman_ , she guessed, for no matter how nice and pleasant Magister Nervere tried to be, Sansa could not feel completely at ease with him. _And least of all now that I’ve met Quallo,_ she remembered. The red god follower, and former slave from Volantis, had scared her so much that Sansa didn’t want to see him ever again.

  If it hadn’t been for the memory of what she and Sandor had shared once he brought her back to her rooms, the night of the ball would have ended sadly for her. _Yet last night was not a waste_. For Sandor finally had let his guard down with her, so they could finally share an intimate moment together, and he had also sort of danced with her, and it had been marvelous. _Well, it wasn’t_ really _a dance, but it was definitely better than any other dance I’ve had before._

  The feelings that had assaulted her had been both new and familiar, and so intimate that Sansa could not stop from biting her lip wickedly at the memory as she blushed fiercely. _I felt his need so strongly this time, and he didn’t push me away when I pressed myself against him_. No, instead, Sandor had brought her even closer to him, and the desire they felt for each other had finally taken over most of their senses as they forgot the world and everyone in it. In those precious moments when they had held each other, all Sansa was able to think about was how good and right it had felt, and she’d wished the moment could last forever- and could go further than just clinging to the other.

  She knew Sandor too well by now not to realize that he would prefer things to remain as they were between them, but Sansa wasn’t so certain about wishing to let yesterday’s experience go unmentioned. She didn’t have any illusions or hopes about what Sandor would do once he came to her rooms, to tell her it was time to start the day. _I doubt he’ll mention what happened last night_. So, she had to be the one to speak of it _._

Sansa sat up amongst her rumpled bedcovers with her arms around her knees, thinking. _Why does it always feel so nice to do such unladylike things with Sandor? Or why do such wonderful sensations have to be forbidden?_ It was not merely a matter of Sandor not being her husband, but of the sensations she had enjoyed beyond reason. Feeling his desire for her only fleetingly once before when Sandor had kneaded the muscles of her back many weeks ago in their house at the _Three Bells Inn,_ had been one thing, but last night, the way Sandor’s body had betrayed his desire for her had felt so perfect that it had taken her breath away and clouded her senses, and the only thing Sansa had been able to do was cling tighter to him, giving herself up to whatever he decided. In those moments, even if her reason and conscience had left her, she had known all along that she was still as safe in Sandor’s arms as she had ever been.

  Now that she thought about it, the grey walls of Winterfell and Sandor Clegane’s arms were where she would love to spend the rest of her life in. It was growing harder to remember at times why it had seemed so important to recall that it would be Robb’s wish to marry her off to someone, and that it was her duty to listen to her brother and king. Sansa knew Robb wouldn’t marry her off to someone who was not kind nor good, and yet… her father had made a mistake in his decision who to betroth her to. She imagined the future and being in someone else’s embrace rather than Sandor’s, and it was just too much for her. _I want Sandor to share such  things with_. She had come to know and trust him so much, and it felt like an evil crime to recall that she was destined for someone else.

  After all, didn’t she also have a duty to her heart? Being a Stark was a great privilege and a responsibility she could never forget, but it didn’t seem right to Sansa to sacrifice what she wanted for everyone else’s wants and expectations. _I want more than just a nice stranger whom I come to appreciate with the passing of time,_ she decided _. I want more of Sandor. I want all of him_.  _And he wants me, too, I think._

  She didn’t know how long she sat there in bed, staring at nothing, lost in castles in the air and serious thoughts. _I should bathe and change_ , she gathered after a time. Sighing contentedly, Sansa got off the bed. Somehow, she couldn’t put out of her mind the hope of today being the beginning of a promising change between her and Sandor. Maybe that was why she suddenly began to twirl around and dance across the bedroom, her bare feet sliding along the cold marble in the morning breeze. Afterwards, Sansa took off the expensive gown that had been a “gift” from Arman, folding it neatly and caressing for one last time its fabric.

  She took a quick bath on the pool, and when that was done, she donned on her green woolen dress, gathered her clothes into the bag she’d brought with her two days ago, and went to sit at her vanity table. She began to brush her hair, singing songs she had learned during her childhood.

  That is how Sandor found her when he walked into the apartments she’d been given by Arman Nervere. She turned around, and the mere sight of him standing by the door stopped her breath. They stared at each other, taking in the sight of the person they had shared those intimate moments with last night, and Sansa thought she saw the strong features of Sandor’s face soften as he realized what song she was singing. It was _Florian and Jonquil_.

  He began to walk over to her, and when Sansa noticed that he was wearing mail and the gifts she’d given him on the celebration of their combined nameday, her heart beat wildly inside her chest. _How dear you are to me_ , she thought as his brooding countenance changed into a grin and he gave a snort. It took all her resolution to remain where she was, sitting in front of her mirror, brushing her hair, singing, “ _You are no knight, I know you well. Many a night I’ve heard in my father’s hall the tale of the man whose armor is made of motley...”_

  She watched Sandor’s every move as after hesitating for a moment, he quietly walked over to stand behind her. Sansa turned around to face the mirror before her, but instead of looking at her reflection, she searched his face and their eyes locked in a long gaze that lasted as she sang the tale of the fool and his love. She smiled at him in encouragement and gave him a tiny nod, and a moment later she felt Sandor’s calloused hand on her shoulder.

  For a moment, she stopped brushing her hair, wondering if he would like to do it for her, but he shook his head and rasped, “Go on,” as he caressed her arm encouragingly up and down with his other hand.

  So she did, focusing on how warm and big his hands felt upon her. A moment later, the hand he had on her shoulder blade disappeared in all the wet hair that fell down her back as he brought it to rest on her neck. When he brushed his thick fingers along the sensitive skin there, Sansa drew a small intake of breath. Bringing her free hand up to meet the one he had buried in her hair, they held hands until the song ended with, “ _And_ _so this tale has reached its end with tears and broken hearts, for never again was there seen in the world a love like the one fair Jonquil had, nor has there ever been seen again a man as honorable as the motley knight_ …”

  A long moment of silence followed, wherein they tried to communicate through many different emotions through their eyes, until Sandor’s eyes fell on their entwined hands.

  “I have kept my promise,” she told him.

  His eyebrow arched as he growled, “What promise?”

  “Regarding the song you talked about last night,” she said lightly. Before he could do anything, Sansa stood up from the stool of the vanity table and turned around, throwing her arms around a startled Sandor as she hugged him tightly to her, burying her face into his chest, the mail pressed firmly against her.

  It took a couple of heartbeats before Sandor would encircled her as well with his arms, but when he did, Sansa sighed against him, feeling as if she had come home. She closed her eyes and tried hard to hear his heartbeats through the mail. 

  Sandor’s hand began to caress her hair, and then he said, “I’ve been thinking, Sansa, and you’re right.”

  She looked up at him, frowning slightly. “About what?”

  His mouth began to twitch as he rasped, “Despite the prospect of having to bear being trapped in a small village with Vintos’ family, I think it would be better if we _do_ go and stay with them in their village, and quickly. The sooner we get away from fucking sodding Nervere the better.”

  She beamed at him for that, wondering if he would pull away if she just stepped up on the tip of her toe to kiss him. _Maybe in the village something can happen between us._ Sansa felt so happy in this moment that anything seemed possible.

  “Yes, thank you!” she told him, laughing. “I know you will enjoy it, Sandor, even if you declare a thousand times that you won’t be able to stand being with Vintos and his family in a little village for only the Seven knows how many weeks.”

  Sandor didn’t seem to find that prospect as amusing as she did. “And the sooner we get away from this house the better, little bird. Have you finished packing?”

  She drew away from Sandor’s arms and headed towards the bed where she had left the bag that contained her three gowns, beside her robe and nightgown, patting it. “I have. And you?”

  He grunted just before someone knocked on the door. Sandor tensed and strode over to open it.

  “You,” he spat, with a nasty grin.

  “Good morning,” Urroc, the bald steward answered. He stepped into the living room, bowed to her and ignored Sandor smirking beside him. “I trust you had a pleasant night, Lady Alysanne?”

  Sansa smiled. “Yes, I did, thank you.”

  “That is good to hear. And did you enjoy the ball?”

  “I did. Edric did as well.”

  “Magister Nervere will be pleased to hear that. He bid me inform you that you can stay in his house for as long as you so wish it, but that before you leave, please wait to meet him, because he has some very important matters to tell you.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know the nature of those matters?” she asked, growing curious.

  “I am afraid not, my lady. The Magister didn’t mention them to me.”

  “Very well, I’ll seek him soon. We won’t be staying long. We have things to do.”

  “As you wish,” Urroc said, and then he seemed to remember something. “I almost forgot. I met your friends on my way here, and they asked me if it was proper for them to break their fast up here with you. I told them that it certainly was, but that I would ask you nonetheless.”

  “Oh, yes,” she exclaimed happily, smiling at Sandor’s expression. “That would be lovely.”

  “I’ll tell them and will see to it that your breakfast is ready soon,” Urroc assured her. When he was done, Sandor cursed loudly and sat heavily on a chair in the living room.

  “What is it?” she asked him.

  “I wonder what matters the bloodless lamb wants to speak about with you,” Sandor answered, running his hand across his face tiredly.

  A sudden wary, dreadful thought crossed Sansa’s mind. She took a step closer to him and whispered, “You don’t think he knows who we are?”

  Sandor looked at her with a hard gaze. “No, the steward would have behaved strangely if we’d been found out. No, it will probably be something about Westeros and the war. I can feel it”

  Sansa gulped. _Please,_ she prayed fervently. _Please, don’t let it be anything bad about Robb or Mother_.

  “Something bad?”

  Sandor shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  Sansa turned around, bringing her hand to cover her mouth to stifle the sob that wished to escape her. She then hugged herself, wondering what matters Arman wished to discuss with her, and didn’t hear Sandor standing up and walking over to where she was. Yet she _did_ feel his arms hugging her from behind. It felt so nice to be hugging yourself while held by another.

  “It may be nothing, little bird,” Sandor told her in a soothing tone. “It was just a thought. But no matter what it is–whatever it is that has happened, don’t forget that we are together in this.”

  Sansa nodded, still too worried for words, and let herself lean back against his wide chest, allowing his strength support her as she tried to ease her mind and heart. When Frema and Vintos came to join them to break their fast, the exclamations of approval and laughter on the news of Edric and Alysanne joining them for the trip to the village provoked the married couple made her smile. She even forgot for a short moment her worries about what Magister Nervere wished to talk of. Besides that, the moods amongst their little party were quite varied. Vintos was feeling sad because he had to leave Arman’s manor, while Frema was very happy at the prospect of the little trip, and she began planning along everything they could do once they reached the village. Sandor was brooding, just like her, about what was going to happen when they saw Arman, but was also angry because he would have to wait longer before they finally left this house. The happiness Sansa had felt this morning when she woke up was threatening to disappear.

  When they were finished with the food, it was time to leave these rooms forever. Sansa took one last look at the place where she had lived for the last couple of days and did not regret leaving the opulent grand apartments. Right at the main entrance to the manse, Urroc was waiting for them, along with some servants.

  “My lady, Magister Nervere is in a meeting at the moment. Yet he said that the moment you were ready to leave that I should take you to him.”

  “Very well, here I am,” she told the old bald steward.

  “A palanquin is already waiting outside to take your friends back to your home at _The_ _Three Bells Inn_. I am sure you won’t be detained too long and will be joining them shortly.”

  Sansa only needed Sandor beside her in this moment. So she turned to Frema and her crestfallen husband, and smiled a little, taking their hands. “We’ll go home in a moment. Could you tell Medra to have the house ready for our arrival?”

  “Of course,” Frema assured her, winking.

  “Please, thank the magister for his hospitality,” Vintos told Urroc. “We will never forget it. Tell him the ball was very grand and that–and that he shall always count with us for anything if–if you please.”

  Urroc smiled, a little amused. “I will certainly do.”

  Her friends were gone, followed by the train of servants and two guards from the Bearded Priests, their long sharp axes gleaming and sharply polished, and only Sansa, Sandor and Urroc were left standing in the hall; the steward said, “If you would follow me, my lady.”

  It was just like the first time they had come to this manor. Urroc led them down the same rooms and halls, and they reached the terrace where they had once shared a meal with Magister Nervere. Arman was having a meeting of sorts now with all the members of the Council of Norvos that Sansa had met yesterday, at the ball, she saw through the glass doors. _They are a cautious sort_ , she could not help but think as her eyes fell on the pair of guards standing behind every magister. Arman was the first to see them, and his serious expression at a magister’s talk broke into a wide smile.

  Sansa smiled back a little, and tried to tell herself that Arman wouldn’t be smiling if he had bad tidings to tell them. The doors to the terrace were open, so when Magister Nervere stood up, she and Sandor heard him say, “My friends, this interests me greatly, but if you will excuse me, I must part from you for a moment while I have some words with Lady Mallister here.”

  The magisters of Norvos had all seemed either puzzled or annoyed by this interruption, but when they turned around and saw her waiting for Arman, all of them rose from their seats to greet her. _Oh, no_ , she thought, dreading greeting them all in turn. There were five and ten, and it would take longer than she cared to if she had to bid them good morning. Sansa could already feel Sandor shift angrily beside her at that prospect as well.

  Luckily, they were spared that because Arman said, “Please, my friends, don’t trouble yourselves. I am sure Lady Alysanne can see you from where she stands.”

  Sansa nodded in agreement and waved at all the nobles, hoping that would suffice. Arman finally reached them, and his eyes quickly looked her up and down approvingly before he kissed her hand as he bowed to her.

  “Alys,” he said, straightening up and meeting her gaze. “Edric, good morning.”

  Sandor didn’t care to answer him, so Sansa spoke to make up for her sworn shield’s silence, “We do not wish to intrude upon your meeting.”

  Arman laughed, and even rolled his eyes at his fellow magisters as Urroc walked away from them to resume his duties. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t a meeting. The magisters and I were just talking about a horse race happening a month from now.”

  “Oh,” she answered thinking that Stranger would win that race if he was in it, as Sandor said, “Wonder if you will be using any of your little treasures for it?”

  Arman regarded Edric for a moment, before answering, “The High Magister can’t participate. If my horse were to win, people could think it was an arranged race.”

  Sandor snorted. “How convenient for you.”

  Magister Nervere ignored that. “Alys,” he said, offering her his arm, which she took. “I have some news to share with you.”

  “Is it about the Seven Kingdoms?” she asked, as Arman steered her over to the living room beside the terrace.

  “Yes.”

  Sansa nodded and turned back to look quickly at Sandor. His face betrayed nothing, but when he winked, she knew it was his way of reassuring her that everything was somehow going to be all right. 

  Arman and Sansa sat down on a wide expensive golden bench, while Sandor stood beside a column, leaning on it, his hand protectively touching the hilt of his sword.

  “What have you heard?” she asked, unable to contain herself for long.

  “It isn’t very recent news, I’m afraid. I broke my fast with an envoy from the Iron Bank who heard it nearly half a year ago.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, looking again in Sandor’s direction. “What is it?”

  Arman took a deep breath as he sat beside her looking tall and handsome. “The only thing he said that was new to both you or me was that the boy sitting on the Iron Throne became engaged to a lady from House Tyrell, whom I believe to be the widow of Renly Baratheon.”

  For a moment, Sansa Stark forgot to breathe. _Is that it? Was_ that _everything?_ She felt curiously light-headed. Gods be good, that was not bad compared to what she had been imagining. _Of course, the combined powers of the Tyrells and the Lannisters could not be any good for Robb, but at least the news had not been about any ill befalling him or our lady mother_. Sansa could feel Sandor and Arman’s eyes upon her. She raised her head and was met with a pair of shining sapphire-colored eyes. They held no appeal for her.

  She searched for Sandor’s grey ones instead. He looked bored, as if he had not a care in the world.  _The face I show Arman must look as if this does not affect me greatly. After all, it doesn’t really change anything, does it?_ The news was almost half a year old, and who knew how matters stood now in the Seven Kingdoms. Sansa didn’t feel anything about Joffrey marrying someone else. She only felt sadness for Margaery Tyrell, who would now have to be the one to kiss Joffrey and bear him children _. At least she was spared giving him her maidenhood. How horrible it would be to lose a kind husband like Lord Renly, only to end up as Joffrey’s bride, regardless of whether that made her a queen or not_.

  “Indeed,” she finally said. “Well, this is certainly unexpected.”

  “The Mallisters are fighting against the Iron Throne, aren’t they?”

  Sansa nodded, still a little lost in her thoughts.

  “I shall pray to R’hllor that nothing good comes out of this for King Joffrey, then,” Arman said in a firm voice. Having heard him say the name of the boy who had once been long ago her golden prince brought her back to the present.

  “I thank you,” she said, once again staring at Sandor. _I wonder what he thinks of this new alliance. Gods, how I hope Robb beats them all_.

  “So, now that you’ve heard the news, I must confess I was very anxious to hear what you thought of the ball.”

  “Oh, it was very splendid and marvelous,” Sansa said truthfully, as they all heard the group of magisters in the terraced beside the living room breaking into loud laughter.

  Arman looked thoroughly relieved by her words. “So it was to your liking then? You were wonderful last night, and I wanted to thank you for bearing with me as I introduced you to everyone.”

  _Well, at least he noticed that it wasn’t pleasant for me after being introduced more than twenty times over to different people_. “I was honored to have met so many high and noble lords. And I was surprised that they remembered me just now.”

  Arman laughed genuinely, his two little dimples appearing on his cheeks. The sound seemed to annoy Sandor greatly, for he began to laugh mockingly, and the sound was iron scraping over stone. But it warmed her heart all the same.

  She tried to hide her grin as Arman said, “I wasn’t. Many of them have been asking me about the charming lady from the Sunset Kingdoms that accompanied me last night.”

 “And have they not said anything about me?” Sandor asked, laughing.

  Sansa shot him a pleading look for him to stop teasing Arman, fearing that she would break into giggles, which would be quite rude. _And it is better if no one asks about him. It’s more dangerous for a Clegane than a Stark to be here_.

  “I am afraid not, Edric, but do not despair. You are hard to miss in a crowd.”

  “Wouldn’t have noticed if you didn’t remark upon it, Nervere,” Sandor answered with a nasty grin.

  “Yes, as I was saying, you can really be proud of yourself, Arman. It was a beautiful night,” Sansa said, trying to steer the conversation away from the riffle between Sandor and him. 

  “I could not find you when the fireworks began. Did you have a chance to see them?”

  Sansa allowed herself to smile now as she recalled last night, and what she and Sandor had done. “Yes, I did. I was already readying myself for bed, but thankfully I did manage to see them.”

  “And your friends? Have they told you what they thought of the ball?” Arman asked her. “Urroc said that they seemed–”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Sandor interrupted loudly. “I’m going to go take a piss. Hopefully by the time I get back it will have entered your thick head that the bloody ball was all right, Nervere.”

  Sansa’s eyes had gone wide as saucers as Sandor rasped that, and she turned to look at him, blushing fiercely; he was already striding off in search for a chamber pot. _Oh, gods,_ she thought, a little embarrassed. It was funny to see the momentary surprise in Arman’s face at Sandor’s words, but it was still not a proper thing to say.

  She turned to face him, and saw that he was still staring in the direction Sandor had walked away. His eyes looked hard, yet his voice was softer as he remarked with a chuckle, “Edric doesn’t like me much.”

  Sansa opened her mouth and closed it again. _What can I say to that?_ “Don’t take it personally,” she lied. “Edric isn’t very fond of people. Poor Vintos at times doesn’t know what has struck him when he is talking to Edric.” That made her smile, for despite Sandor’s exasperation with their nosy neighbors, she knew he had grown to like them–at least a little.

  “Yet he likes _you_ ,” Arman pointed out, meeting her eyes, with a questioning look that dared her to deny it.

  Gulping, she blinked and looked away. It was good to hear from someone else that wasn’t Frema or Vintos that Sandor was fond of her.

  “Thank goodness, or I can just imagine what a poor situation I would be in, fearing the man who was set upon to guard me,” she said, trying to make light of the conversation.

  Sansa’s left hand had been resting on the surface of the golden bench they were sitting on, between her and the Magister, yet suddenly Arman placed his long warm fingers over hers. She quickly looked at his hand, boldly pressing hers to the bench, as he said, “Alys,” in a firm tone.

  She frowned and tried to pull her hand away as she looked up again at Arman, who was now drawing closer to her, as he admitted to her, “He isn’t the only one who likes you, you know. Nor the only one who can keep you safe.”

  “Arman, I- I really don’t think-” Sansa began to say, realizing what was happening, but Arman then took her hand in both of his.

  “Alys please, listen to me. Since the moment I first saw you in the streets of this city, I- I really could not believe my eyes. You were the most precious thing I had ever seen. And now that I’ve known you and seen how good and kind and sweet you are, I have fallen in love with you, my darling Alys. Can you blame for it?”

  As Arman spoke Sansa could only stare at him as a blush crept up to her cheeks, wishing Sandor could come back and take her away soon, as he mouth hang open a little in disbelief. _No, I think it’s better if Sandor doesn’t come. If he hears Arman saying this it could not be a good thing_.

  “I know this probably is not the best way of telling you this, but I just can’t restrain myself anymore. I don’t want to try and figure out ways that would enable me to see you again for a day or two when we could be together forever. All my life I’ve felt alone, with no I can really be able to trust but Quallo. But when I’m with you I feel you understand me. Please make me the happiest man in this world and marry me,” Arman finished, kissing her hand.

  Sansa stared at Arman, feeling a little sad that she had to break up his illusions, but the time to put an end to this acquaintance had arrived. “Arman, I- I am deeply honored by your proposition. Truly, I _am_ , but I could not possibly agree to it.”

  Arman stared at her with sad deep blue eyes, and did not let go of her. “But why not? I could make you the happiest woman in this world. I offer you everything I have. I would give you my love and protection, my wealth and my life. I promise to strive to be always worthy of you. I would give all of myself to you, and one day our children could-”

  “Arman please,” she interrupted him standing up, feeling that despite how beautiful and promising the Magister painted their future together, she would not never feel at home with him in this house. Maybe she had been born to be a queen, but these days the simple comforts she had come to know as she lived with Sandor were more valuable to her than all the riches in the world or anything that Arman promised her. “I do not _really_ know you. I do not feel the same way about you and you do not know me either, or you would know that the things you can promise me do not move my heart the way you think. You’ve drawn a concept of me that is wrong, and have expectations I do not intend to fulfill.”

  Arman’s eyes quickly looked behind her before meeting her Tully blue ones again and he stood up as well. “I know you do not feel for me like I do for you. And maybe you see me as a friend now, but with time things would surely change, and for the better. Please my darling Alys, trust me.”

  Before Sansa could draw back, she stood there for the space of a heartbeat in shock, but it was a moment too late that encouraged Arman to lean forward and kiss her.

  Sansa gasped in surprise and tried to pull away, but Arman placed one of his hands on her cheekbone, pleading with her silently not to draw away, as his free hand went to the small of her back. For a stunned moment, Sansa gave in into the sweet, gentle kiss, despite her not even closing her eyes, before wrenching free from Arman, turning away and letting out a cry as she remembered that this had just been her _first_ kiss, and it hadn’t been with _Sandor_. She brought her hand to her mouth, as she whispered, “No, oh, no! No. Why?”

  She only caught a momentary glance of Arman’s face. He was looking down at her confused, obviously surprised by her reaction, before Sandor’s rough voice loudly cursed, “Fucking thrice-damned bugger!”

  Sandor’s sudden appearance made Sansa jump, startled. She saw Sandor striding past her and reaching Arman before he grabbed the High Magister of Norvos by the front of his robes and with one hand he lifted him up from the marble floor, while from somewhere Sandor produced the same dagger he had once pointed at her throat, only now it was the neck of Arman Nervere it was giving its steel kiss to. Sansa whimpered, for Sandor’s face was contorted with a horrible spasm of murderous anger which she hadn’t seen in a long time.

  “You have no idea how much I’ve longed to do this,” Sandor told the Magister. “I’m going to kill you now.”

 

***

 

  Sandor had decided that the little bird was right. Going for a time to stay with those buggers in their remote village would probably be the best thing to do in order to get away from Arman fucking Nervere. And it was nice to think of moving on from this city to somewhere else, even if the price for it would have to be being day and night not only close to Vintos but to his whole family. Frema, Sandor supposed, was all right, but sometimes he just wanted to punch Vintos in the face. _Fat chance his family won’t be like him, I guess_.

  When he had entered the little bird’s room to find her already awake and singing, he had felt his breeches growing tighter as her sweet unreal voice lured him to her, and he knew that being with her in some Norvoshi village was worth enduring anything. As he stood behind her while she sang that bloody song of the fool, Sandor had not been able to restrain himself, and so he had laid his hands on her, caressing her soft long neck and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

  _Bloody hells, what have you done to me, Sansa?_ he’d wondered again, willing to sell his soul on the spot or die a thousand times if that could always keep her safe. _This won’t last long._ Sooner or later, his resolution and iron will would snap and only the bloody Seven knew what would happen. _I want to protect you, little bird, but will I always be able to protect you from myself?_ She was so young that Sandor couldn’t stop wondering if the novelty of what they were living was what attracted her, rather than him as a possible partner.

  The memories of last night crossed his mind once more, treasured moments he would never forget, and the proof he could use to fight back his impulses to draw away from Sansa. It was all so maddeningly confusing; Sandor wondered if he wasn’t probably being unjust to the little bird. _She isn’t the young foolish girl you first saw in the courtyard of Winterfell. She’s grown and seen how the world is truly like, and has had many opportunities to draw away from you, yet she keeps getting closer-getting under my skin_. It would be so fucking sweet if Sansa ended up wanting him as much as he wanted her.  

  Still, there were other things to consider. When the buggering steward had informed him that the sodding High Sheep had something to tell them, Sandor had sensed that it would be about Westeros. He just knew it in his guts. But it had been a mistake to tell Sansa that, for he had worried her more than she cared to admit. _We can’t hide much from the others now_ , he gathered. Thankfully, it hadn’t been anything regarding the Young Wolf or her mother, because Sandor knew that Sansa would simply not be able to bear it. Sure, this marriage between Mace the Whale Tyrell’s daughter and Joffrey wasn’t good for the King in the North, but at least it wasn’t Sansa who was enduring the lions now. _That’s what I call a wretched life_ , Sandor had thought of Joff’s new bride to be, as Arman Nervere began to go on and on about how his fucking ball had turned out. _First married to her brother’s lover and now to that sadistic little shit_.

  This wasn’t the time to think about what this marriage would mean to him and Sansa and everyone else; Sandor couldn’t even think straight when he started to feel the urge to piss as that idiot didn’t simply shut up. _At least this is the last time you’ll have to see his face_ , Sandor reminded himself. That thought made him happy, so he decided to insult the High Magister to his face before he went for a piss. _Sansa may be willing to endure him, but I’ll be damned if I am._

  As Sandor unlaced his breeches, he began planning ahead. _We should leave the city in about two days, I gather. And I’ll tell Vintos and Frema not to tell the fat innkeeper about it in case she spill the beans on us to Nervere. We’ll tell her we are heading for Pentos or somewhere, and hope that leads the bugger off our scent_. 

  When he was done, Sandor walked back to the living room where Sansa was enduring Arman’s prattling, and began to hear outside the terrace the laughter of the magisters who had goggled at the little bird like stupid buggering fools. His hand brushed against the pommel of his sword, and he wished he could stick it through all their bellies to see if that would wipe the smirks off their faces.

  He chuckled at that, only to stop dead in his tracks by the sound of Nervere’s voice saying, “But why not? I could make you the happiest woman in this world. I offer you everything I have. I would give you my love and protection, my wealth and my life. I promise to strive to be always worthy of you. I would give all of myself to you, and one day our children could-”

  “Arman please,” the little bird interrupted and made a noise that told Sandor she was standing up. Sandor’s heart seemed to stop beating as he waited to see what Sansa would say.

  “I do not _really_ know you. I do not feel the same way about you and you do not know me either, or you would know that the things you can promise me do not move my heart the way you think. You’ve drawn a concept of me that is wrong, and have expectations I do not intend to fulfill”

  Sandor felt a grin forming in his scarred face at hearing Sansa’s refusal. _So the little shit finally found the balls to propose to the little bird? Well, piss on that. She’ll show him what she’s made of_. He peered around the doorframe to see what was happening inside the living room. Both Sansa and fucking Nervere were standing up, and now the bloody Magister was looking like a rejected rat as he said, “I know you do not feel for me like I do for you And maybe you see me as a friend now, but with time things would surely change, and for the better. Please my darling Alys, trust me.”

  And before Sandor could even blink that bloody shit actually _kissed_ his little bird. Sandor saw red. He stood there, too stunned to believe what his eyes were confirming; after a moment, Sansa wrenched free from the Magister, and he caught a glimpse of her face, and saw that she was just as surprised as he was, but she was also blushing and looked ready to cry. Her lip trembled and her eyes grew scared as Sandor heard her trying to convince herself that it hadn’t happened. He saw that she was feeling just as disgusted as he was, and in that moment all the anger and hate he had lived with year after year of being the Hound came back, and he slid into a cold rage that didn’t even allow him to think about the consequences of what he was about to do. He strode right up to that cockless wonder, who was gazing up at Sansa with a soft look on his face that drove Sandor mad.

  “Fucking thrice-damned bugger!” he shouted, grabbing Arman by the front of his tunic and lifting him up so that this face was on level with his burned one.

  Ignoring Sansa’s cry, Sandor brought out his dagger and put it against the Magister’s neck. “You have no idea how much I’ve longed to do this,” he whispered to Arman, who looked back at him with a stony look on his face, betraying no hint of fear. “I’m going to kill you now,” Sandor promised him.

  “Edric, don’t! Leave him be,” the little bird screamed beside him, but Sandor wasn’t listening. He pushed the tip of his blade against Nervere’s neck, and felt content when he saw blood spilling.

  “Piss on that,” he rasped. “I’m going to kill this fucker right here, right now. Let’s make him understand that you mean it when you say you want nothing with this bugger.”

  “Please, stop this! Leave him alone,” Sansa was begging beside him, and when a man shouted, “Get your hands off the magister!” he turned around to see all the other fucking magisters rushing into the living room. They had probably heard him curse out loud at Arman. They all looked shocked or scared, but it was the little bird beginning to cry what hurt him.

_I should have let you kiss me that night in that inn when I had beer on my foam_ , Sandor thought fleetingly, before he saw that the living room was also filled by guards trained by the Bearded Priests, their sharp axes out and ready to strike off a head or a limb in defense of the man that ruled over them. Seven hells, how good it would feel to slit Nervere’s throat, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do that. What that would mean for him and Sansa was not worth thinking about.

  Arman was looking deeply into his eyes as he said, “Let me down, Edric. I promise nothing will happen to you or Alys if you put me down.” Then in a loud commanding voice he told the guards, “Let them walk away without harm once this man puts me down. It is my fault. I behaved wrongly. I am sorry, Alysanne.”

  “Please,” Sansa whispered beside him, placing a trembling hand on his arm, willing him to lower down the dagger as she ignored Arman. “He’ll do as he says. I know it. Let’s get away from here, Edric.”

  Sandor’s mouth began to twitch in revulsion when he finally took the blade away from the fucker’s neck. He threw Arman across the floor and spat at him before he turned around, grabbed the little bird’s hand, and dragged her away from there.

  The bloody bald steward was waiting for them outside, beside the palanquin, oblivious to everything that had just happened.

  “Ah, you’re leaving now, then? I wanted to wait and bid you goodbye, Lady Al–what is the matter? Why are there tears in your eyes?”

  “It’s–it’s nothing, Urroc,” Sansa chirped, in a trembling voice. “Good-bye.”

  Sandor hated using the litter that belonged to the man he wished so badly he could kill, but if they didn’t take it, then they would probably be reaching the inn till well past dusk. So instead he rasped, “We won’t be taking the litter. We’ll borrow a horse and one of the stable hands can come along with us. When we reach the inn, he can ride back with the animals.”

  Urroc was looking confused, but agreed. They were Nervere’s honored guests after all, and a horse couldn’t be denied to them. So Sandor grabbed Sansa a little too roughly by the waist and placed her on the horse, before getting on behind her. A skinny boy appeared beside them suddenly, on a smaller horse, and they started riding away from this blasted cursed place towards the streets of the High City, and then down the Sinner’s Steps until they reached the Low City and the inn of _The Three Bells_.

  Neither he nor Sansa said a word all the time they were riding. Sandor felt like shit. He felt that Arman had stolen something from him, but could he really blame the bugger for kissing Sansa? She was fucking beautiful, and it was only for some mad reason he couldn’t remember at present that _he_ had been able to contain himself from kissing her. _Yet it was bloody stupid to expect that Arman would do the same._ _I guess I thought the bugger didn’t have it in him. Propose to her yes, but not force a kiss on her._ Sandor snorted angrily. _Proves how fucking wrong you can be_. He wasn’t angry at the little bird, but he was angry at himself for not having stepped in before so he could have avoided that kiss. He was anxious to get back to the inn so that he could leave her there and go get a drink at some wine shop where she couldn’t follow. If he stayed at the house, she would want to talk and he wasn’t ready yet for that. _No, better to get drunk. It’s been too bloody long after all._

  He supposed things hadn’t changed between them since it had only been a sodding kiss, but it still hurt him that he had not been the man that had been kissing her. And that was when the real reason for his anger hit him. _Fuck me, if this was just a kiss, what is going to happen to me when she marries another? When he puts his cloak around her shoulders and claims her as his and I can’t do anything about it? When he realizes what a wonderful good woman she is and ends up bloody loving her beyond reason?_

  His insides coiled tightly as he replaced Arman with another man in his head, some northern lord, kissing Sansa. _When she is wed, I won’t be able to be present unless she asks me to, and then it would be because she knows full well she would be a widow before she was bedded_. Bloody hells, life before the little bird had sucked, but at least it had been less complicated.

  When they reached the inn, neither the innkeeper nor Frema or Vintos were anywhere to be seen, so Sandor dismounted and helped Sansa off the horse. Her tears had dried upon her cheeks, but she wasn’t looking at him. Sandor threw the reins of the horse to the young servant that had tried hard to keep up with their fast pace, and took her hand again, leading her across the cobblestone courtyard to their house.

  He wrenched the door open as he let go of Sansa’s hand, glaring at her. She finally turned to look at his burned face, but he couldn’t bear the hurt in her eyes now. _You weren’t the one that hurt her_ , he reminded himself.

  “Sandor,” she said in a voice full of emotions, “I–we have to talk.”

 “Don’t, Sansa. I can’t right now, so spare me. Get inside. I’m going for a drink.”

  The beautiful little bird shook her head. “No, stay here. I– _we_ needto talk about–”

  Sandor regarded her for a moment.

  “I’ll be back later,” he told her roughly, before he turned around and walked away from her, trying to ignore the look of hurt and anger in her face. _Seven bloody buggering hells! When things were looking up between us_ , this _had to happen_ , he thought as he briefly glanced over at the stables to see that his warhorse and Sansa’s mare were still there. _I just need some fucking wine._

 

***

 

  Sansa stood on the threshold of the house she shared with Sandor, looking at his retreating figure in disbelief; she felt something breaking and yet smoldering inside her. _What is happening? Why is all of this happening?_ She asked herself. _This can’t be real._ She could feel tears on her eyes, so she closed the door, resigned to wait for Sandor to return.

  “What a sad homecoming,” she said out loud, bitterly. There was a note on the table from Frema in the dining room that said Medra had thought it wise to light up the fireplace and brazier, as well as the tallow candles. _Vintos will be taking me to have dinner at a nearby inn_ , the letter read in the Valyrian spoken in Norvos. _We will talk tomorrow morning. I hope the Magister didn’t have bad tidings from your home_. Sansa crushed the letter before feeding it to the fire.

  Going to her bedroom and sitting on the bed, she played everything over and over in her mind, from the moment Arman had proposed to her to the moment Sandor walked away from her, trying to understand men as she hugged her knees. _Why did Arman have to kiss me?_ _Oh, gods, I hope I never have to see his face again._ If he had only proposed to her and accepted her refusal, then everything would have turn out to be all right because he probably wouldn’t have looked for her again, but no, he had to go on and kiss her.

  Once Sansa would’ve been thrilled at the prospect of such a handsome man being the one to give her first kiss after declaring his feelings for her. But now she wanted to hit him for it. The kiss had meant nothing and yet it had ruined everything. It had been too brief for any sort of emotions aside disbelief to take hold of her, but nonetheless Sansa found herself recalling the moment when Arman’s lips had softly kissed hers with clarity. She thanked the old gods and the new that he did not try anything further. She hadn’t kissed him back or opened her pursed lips, and she really had felt no pleasant emotions stirring in her belly, despite it being soft and gentle. _No, Arman doesn’t make me feel anything. The man who does is Sandor, and he is angry with me right now_.

  Sansa threw a pillow at the wall in anger. Why _is he angry at me? It isn’t as if I had wished for this to happen. I am the one who should be angry at him for never being brave enough to kiss me, even when it was clear that I wanted him to_. Countless times she had been so close to getting her heart’s desire, and somehow here they were, still strangers in this important sense even if they were familiar in almost every other aspect of their relationship. And then, just now, instead of trying to talk to her and listen to what she wanted to tell him, he had gone off to get some wine. That made Sansa bite her lip so hard she tasted blood.

  The distinctive taste of it brought back the memory of Sandor holding Arman by the front of his robes, drawing the Magister’s blood with his dagger _._ All the magisters and their guards had rushed inside to see what the commotion was about, and Sansa had suddenly felt as terrified as whenever she was told Joffrey was going to punish her. For a moment, she believed that either Sandor would get himself killed, or that Arman at least would certainly wish to avenge himself on Sandor for the humiliation the moment Sandor released him. So as much as she hated feeling weak because it reminded her of the time when she had been helpless to do much else due to the lions, she could not stop the tears from sliding down her face as she begged Sandor to leave Arman alone and get away from there, before it was too late. _I couldn’t have born it if anything had happened to him because of that meaningless kiss_.

  That was strange. Why was Sandor reacting so angrily because of a brief kiss? _There has to be another reason for him to behave like this_ , Sansa concluded.

  When she recalled how happy she had woken up this morning, she felt dismayed. It seemed so long ago. Would things change for the worse between her and Sandor now? _We were so close. Could fate really be so cruel as to ruin things between us? Maybe if I get some sleep, by the time I wake up it will all have been a bad dream_. She closed her eyes for a moment and ended up drifting off into a dreamless rest.

  When she woke up long hours later, she could tell that it was well past dusk due to how dark the bedroom had become, even with a dozen tallow candles lit up all around her. _Why does my head hurt so much?_ She wondered, and all the memories came rushing back. She quickly stood up and went to see if Sandor had returned, but he hadn’t. Her heart fell heavy. A cold breeze passed through the window and Sansa went to close it, trembling. She saw that the moon was black tonight as she gazed up at the dark sky, wondering where Sandor could be.

  She felt very lonely and very wretched. _I don’t even feel hungry_ , Sansa mused as she warmed her hands before the fireplace, remembering that the last time she’d had some food had been this morning.

  _When I see him, I’ll hug him and confess that it was really him whom I wished to give me my first kiss_ , she told herself at one point, before she changed her mind. She bitterly laughed because it was silly to suppose Sandor didn’t know that already. _No, better if I let him know that I’m hurt because he left me here when I needed him so much, when instead he went to find some comfort from a skin of wine_. _I’m the one who was kissed by someone I never wanted to kiss me. I’m the one who should be drowning my sorrows_. Sighing deeply, she went over to sit on the couches of the living room, waiting for Sandor to come back safe and sound.

  _When he comes back I am going to make him_ listen _to me until he believes me- until I can make him feel how true my words are._ He did return about an hour later. Sansa had been wide awake, staring at the wall before her, as thousand questions flowed through her mind and trying to find a solution to this mess, when she suddenly became aware that he was back. He could barely stand, and his presence had brought a sickening strong smell of wine into the room.

  She suddenly felt a little scared. Sansa had not seen him drunk since the night they escaped King’s Landing, when he had come to her bedroom in the middle of the night as a battle raged outside and green fire lit up the sky. Many months had passed since their nightly encounters in Maegor’s Keep, and on those occasions he _had_ scared her. _But you have come to know him, and you have both changed._ And so she stood up and said, loud and clear so he would understand, “You’re drunk.”

  Sandor’s laugh was half a growl. “Tell me something I don’t know, Sansa.”

  “Why?” she asked him, walking up to him. “Why did you leave me here when I needed you? I didn’t want that kiss. Surely you know that. You can’t blame me for what happened.”

  Even before she was finished, she could already feel Sandor’s snide remarks coming, and he didn’t disappoint.

  “Should I blame that handsome fucker then? I bet kissing him was a real ordeal for you.”

  “You should blame yourself,” she told him, her anger rising inside her. “After all, Arman wanted a kiss and he took it, unlike others I’ve known.”

  Sandor threw back his head and laughed, and in the sound was like the snarling of dogs in a pit. “The little bird has a mouth on her, I see.”

  His grey eyes raked her up and down in a way Sansa would have once long ago thought as rude, but which was now somehow exciting. Sandor began backing her towards the wall. He was so tall and powerful that she felt herself yielding in to where he wanted to lead her to. “And that noble prick is a bloody lucky bastard for having the balls to take what he wanted, is that it?”

  He had gotten so close to her that Sansa could smell wine, leather and horses on him, as he suddenly pressed her against the wall with his menacing body. The candles Medra had lit up all around the room allowed her to gaze clearly into Sandor’s grey eyes, presently drunk and sullen with anger. They were the eyes of someone she had not encountered in a long time: the Hound. She could feel her heart beating once again very fast as Sandor brought his hand to grab her chin in an iron grip. He began to roughly caress her jaw, before he slid his hand to her neck, and then further down to her chest, right above her heaving breasts. Her cheeks flushed by the wash of the heat as if by a lover’s kiss when she once again felt the need that such close proximity had aroused in him.

  The way he was caressing her was making her knees grow weak, yet she wasn’t blind to what he was doing. _He is twisting my words. He doesn’t even believe what he is saying._

  “Let me go,” she moaned, trying to muster her courage, even as she didn’t really wish he would do so, and even as the sour stench of wine hit her strongly, making her briefly lower her face. Fleetingly, she wondered how all of this would end and realized that she didn’t want that to happen.

  When he didn’t let her go, she pushed the hand he had on her away in protest to provoke some reaction from him. The motion indeed startled him, for in the blink of an eye, and in quite a swift movement for a man who was drunk, he had caught hold of both of her wrists, and had slammed them against the wall, trapping her within his long powerful arms; those arms that had felt like home so many times it was hard for Sansa to think of them as anything else, even now when she was quite startled. She wasn’t scared of him hurting her, but she hadn’t expected him to press her to the wall like this. The hold on her wrists was painfully strong, but she found herself with no desire to struggle against him.

  “Why are you looking at me like that? Are you scared, little bird?” he asked her mockingly, clearly misunderstanding her expression.

  “No,” she said, hoping her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

  “You should be,” he told her.

  This proximity was driving her mad. She was looking at Sandor Clegane’s burned face as the sudden instinct to draw closer to him took hold of her. _Of course I’m not scared of you. I’ll never be scared of you again. You said you would keep me safe and have done so... But I am scared_ for _you._

  He was staring at her with big wide eyes seeming to find it difficult to focus on her face. And then she knew. _What are you waiting for?_ _Here is your chance_. Sansa didn’t care that he wasn’t in his right mind. The way the man she wanted was now gazing at her told her that he was realizing what she was about to do as his eyes momentarily flickered to stare intently at her lips. _He doesn’t trust himself to start this for some reason_ , she realized as his eyes grew confused and even scared. His hesitation was letting her know that whatever happened next was up to her, and that was all Sansa needed to stop caring about being a Stark and surely meant for somebody else. She stopped caring that he was drunk or that they were having a row of sorts. She forgot about everything and anything that wasn’t the man before her, whom she had grown to care so deeply for. She closed her eyes as her mouth finally searched for Sandor’s because it was what she wanted more than anything now.

  The moment her lips touched his, Sandor hungrily kissed her back, devouring her mouth with an urgent need that was hard for Sansa to match as he pressed his heavy body against her, pinning her between the wall and himself, in a way that was too overwhelmingly new and surprising to bear. His scarred lips were demanding, their teeth clashed, and then he opened her mouth with his willful tongue, suddenly making the kiss something wet and even more passionate than before. Sansa moaned into Sandor’s mouth when his tongue touched hers, barely believing that this was happening at long last, as they started fighting to possess the other, as if their lives depended on it, with their tongues, their limbs, their bodies. 

  Sandor still had her arms pinned up against the wall, but now his hands were holding hers in a warm, comforting gesture. A moment later, he had brought his hands to the back of her head, and she began running hers along his back, curling them around his armpits, clinging to him as a drowning person clings to a wooden raft in the middle of a storm out at sea. Sansa could not even feel the strong pressure of his hard mail on her chest, as her breasts were pressed against his chest while she stood on tip-toes to try and reach as much as she could of him after she had dragged him down towards her. The sound of Sandor groaning into her mouth took her breath away, while his hands caressed her hair and waist, her hips and back, making her legs grow weak as she bent slightly, but Sandor supported her as he plunged deeper and almost ferociously into her mouth. The actual feeling of his tongue against hers and his lips nibbling on hers was better than any kiss she may have heard in a song.

  It mustn’t have lasted long, yet while it was happening, Sansa felt blissfully caught in a never-ending moment, as Sandor’s arms encircled her around the waist at one point, arching her body into his and driving whimpers out of her, while her hands fluttered to his chest, to his shoulder-length hair, to the back of his neck, before settling on the burned flesh of his jaw and cheek. They had both longed for this moment for so long that they took their time to finally let things slow down. As they did so, they naturally drew out off the process, prying apart as Sansa bit Sandor’s lower lip, and he brought his body to lean down on hers, pressing her close to him as his hands caressed circles on her hips and waist. Neither of them wanted to let go.

  And so they just stood there, and the only sound to be heard was that of them trying to catch their mingled shallow breaths, adjusting their minds to what was happening. The taste of wine was now on her as well, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the way they were staring into each other’s eyes, confirming to their unbelieving minds that they had finally kissed after so long. She almost felt dizzy and was about to nuzzle against his neck like she had done last night after the ball, but didn’t because in that moment he brought his nose to rub against hers, after his eyes roamed her body with a burning desire that matched her own. That gesture and his kiss–long awaited open declarations of how strongly he cared for her–had moved her beyond belief. She met his eyes, and his gaze was so intense she could almost feel the struggle inside of him.

  “Oh, Sandor,” she said breathlessly, as he pressed his forehead on hers. “We can’t pretend that nothing is happening between us. He means nothing to me. But _this_ –this means everything. It’s all that matters.”

  Sandor’s mocking smile cut like a knife as he rasped in a thick voice that was full of torment, “Will you say the same once you have to marry, Lady Stark?”

  Before Sansa could even realize what he meant, he went on, while his mouth began to twitch and one of his hands went from hugging her to her waist. “When your kingly brother presents you to your lordly husband, and he turns out to be a good decent man, will you still look me straight in the face and tell me that he means nothing? Fuck, do you even expect me to be present during such a time? I fucking want you more than ever, but I won’t have you and then stand aside while you marry another.”

  Sansa’s heart was breaking in two as the true meaning behind Sandor’s anger dawned on her. The deep sound of his voice made something inside of her shiver pleasantly; for a moment, she stood silent, staring once more into Sandor’s grey and hard eyes that looked like a storm from the North trying to find the right words to say, feeling overcome by her feelings for him. They were still pressed together, their bodies fast against one another. One of her hands still held on to the hair on the back of his head, and one arm were still around hers, while the fingertips of her other hand caressed the burns on Sandor’s face, as the hard stubble of his cheek tickled her wrist.

  Unfortunately, her momentary silence must have been misinterpreted by him, for he snorted bitterly and without another word, he stepped back from her. He left her there alone in their house once again, slamming the door shut behind him. Sansa hadn’t even moved. She was still resting against the wall, breathing loudly, as she brought her hand to her heart. _It’s happened._ They had both now confirmed what they felt about each other, and there hadn’t even been a need to hear the other say it. No, instead the way her raw lips were feeling was the constant reminder of Sandor trying to tell her how he felt about her.

  She slid along the wall to the floor and knelt there, feeling detached from reality. The kiss had been more than she could ever have hoped for, and it had been the most intimate and beautiful thing she had ever done or felt. Sansa touched her lips, pressing upon them the way Sandor’s had moment ago.

  To remember the kiss she had shared with Arman was now a laughing matter. That had been no more than a peck on her lips, and yet that soft gesture had been what triggered this burning passionate kiss that meant everything. Sansa touched her lips, pressing upon them the way Sandor’s had moment ago. So many emotions had been born in her now–things she didn’t even know the heart could feel–and it had been Sandor the one to make her aware of them; the one who had made her know herself better than she had ever thought possible, her strengths and limits, her courage and her vulnerability. The look of hurt in Sandor’s face when he spoke about the man she would have to marry had only made her feel more acutely that she didn’t want to marry anyone unless that man was Sandor.

  It was so hard to believe that almost a day ago they had been holding on to each other tightly as fireworks decorated the night sky. The turmoil and dilemmas of her mind were suddenly disappearing, and she saw now with much more clarity the motivation for Sandor’s behavior today.

  _He doesn’t want anything to happen between us because once we go back to my family, we will be forced to behave as if none of this had ever happened. I will be expected to marry and he to only guard me._ Knowing now what was tormenting Sandor stopped her from breaking down in despair. _If he is jealous, it is because he wants me for himself and thinks that I will end up giving him up when the time to choose comes around_. The future didn’t matter right now. _He wants me just as much as I want him, we both felt it_. That precious kiss and that precious truth were the beacons of hope that would guide her through this ordeal with a clear head. _When he comes back, I am going to make him_ listen _to me until he believes me. No matter if he is drunk or sober, rude or ashamed. No matter what this means for my family, we can’t let ourselves be beaten by this or anything else ever_. _We will be different now._

  Sansa stood up and walked swiftly to her bedroom, towards the little wooden table where she had her figurehead of the Maiden and the Warrior. She knelt before them and lit a candle, praying that Sandor would come back soon to her.

_You know what is happening between me and Sandor_ , she began fervently _. Please, gods, help him; help me; help us. I thank you from my heart and soul that we finally shared that kiss, but now let him come back to me so that we can once and for all properly set things straight. We can’t go on like this anymore. We can’t ignore what we make each other feel. Please, dear gods_ , _you heard my prayers before when you spirited me away from my golden cage in King’s Landing, and when you saw fit to grant me safe passage aboard the_ Summer Bird _when I crossed the Narrow Sea. You can’t expect me to believe that everything that has happened between me and Sandor doesn’t mean anything, or that it is isn’t strong enough for us to survive this triumphantly, because it is. Please, gods, bring him back to me_ …

  Suddenly, a bell tolled across the city. It was _Narrah_ , the bell that announced midnight. _Soon now_ , Sansa told herself, believing it in her heart. _Soon_. Yet by the time _Noom_ announced the dawn, Sandor still had not returned to her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I thank you for reading and can’t wait to hear your thoughts on this. Always make my days better :D


	23. I Will Find You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Disclaimers  
> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)  
> \- The title for this chapter was inspired by the song of the same name by Clannad  
> *For your truthful supporting help in this chapters my betas, I thank you: onborrowedwings, nysandra & swiftsnowmane :D  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.

  An hour after dawn, Sansa could not take it anymore. _Something must have happened to Sandor_. She knew that he would not simply leave her, least of all now that they had finally kissed. But if he hadn’t left her to fend for herself, why hadn’t he come back?

  _Oh, gods, where is he?_ she wondered for the hundredth time since midnight, looking out of the window again. She had been impatiently walking across the dining room for quite some time, sitting on a chair for a moment before she stood up to look out of the window, and once again resumed her pacing. Her nerves were already starting to break. _Maybe he drank so much wine that he just fell asleep somewhere?_ That was a silly notion, but preferable to the one that had been haunting the back of her head–the one involving Mellario of Dorne having somehow learned that a Clegane was in the city. Whatever had happened, she had to find him, but for that she herself needed help first. Now that the first light of day had come, it would be easier to locate him, she gathered. And so Sansa put a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside into the chilly morning, looking around to see if the towering form of Sandor would appear from some corner. She headed across _The Three Bells_ _Inn_ ’s cobblestone courtyard covered in morning mist, to Vintos and Frema’s house, and taking a deep breath, she knocked on her friend’s door, trying to keep her tears from sliding down her cheeks.

  Several moments later, she saw Vintos peering through the curtains of the window beside the door. When he saw her standing outside, he blinked and mouthed, “Alys?” before unlocking the door. “Goodness, what’s happened?”

  “Hello, Vintos, I’m–I’m sorry for waking you up so early, but I need your help,” she said in a quiet voice, hugging herself.

  Vintos could sense that something was wrong. “Alys, what’s the matter? Where is Edric?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, lips trembling. “That’s why I need help. He–he didn’t come home last night.”

  Vintos’ eyes became worried. “Come inside,” he told her, stepping aside so she could enter the house.

  Frema was walking out from the bedroom, wearing a robe over her nightgown, and stopped when she saw the look on Sansa’s face. “Alys darling, what’s happened?”

  Sansa could not bear it anymore. She knew she had to be strong in these moments, but she had lived through so many things in the last day that it was just too much. Her nerves were strained and now she didn’t even have Sandor to see things through with. She threw herself in Frema’s arms and began to cry.

  “Please, Alys, tell us what is going on!” her friend exclaimed, hugging her back.

  “Edric didn’t come home last night,” Vintos explained.

  “Oh,” Sansa heard Frema answer, as she patted her back.

  “I’ll go and change,” Vintos told them. When he was gone Frema took Sansa by the shoulders and said, “What happened?”

  Sansa shook her head. “Everything. Yesterday, after you left Arman’s home, he told us something about Westeros and then he started going on and on about what we had all thought of the ball, and when Edric went to relieve himself the Magister kissed me–”

  “Alys! Magister Nervere did that?” Frema asked mouth wide.

  “Yes, but it was nothing, though Edric saw the kiss,” she answered, sniffing. She went on to tell Frema quickly everything else that had happened, and when her friend asked her why Sandor had walked away after they’d kissed, Sansa was forced to say a lie of sorts and pretend it was because since the Mallisters were considered better born than the Goodbrooks, Edric didn’t think they could have a future together. When she was done, Frema said, “Wait here. We’ll look for him.”

  “Frema,” Sansa said, drying her tears with the back of her face. “I don’t want to make Vintos lose his wages. Doesn’t he have work to do today?”

  Frema shook her head. “No, he asked leave to skip work for three days due to the ball. He returns tomorrow. I’ll go change now and we’ll all go out and look for him.”

  Sansa nodded and dried her tears, feeling anxious but reminding herself that she had to be strong once again. Having hope would help her survive until she was with him. _I will find you no matter where you are. I have to. I must._ She went to the window to see if Sandor was anywhere to be seen. Her heart felt heavy in her chest, but she stared out of the window at their little house, recalling all the nights they had slept under that roof. She remembered all the times they had been together in each of the little three rooms–the time when they gave each other their nameday gifts in the dining room, or when they had spent nights talking on the couches of the living room, or the countless nights they slept in the same bed, warming each other, with the certain silent reassurance that come morning light they wouldn’t have to face a new day alone. His absence was taking an invisible blindfold off from her eyes. _How could I not see what living with him day after day would lead to?_ It was inevitable that a strong bond would grow between them; a bond that was not going to be easy to set aside. She wondered then about the night she had asked Sandor in Pentos to stay in Essos with her for a couple more months, so she could enjoy her new found freedom. Had it not been wiser maybe to go back to Westeros instead of coming to Norvos? _No, it wouldn’t have. Given the choice, I would wish for everything I’ve lived with Sandor to happen again. This time with him has been the happiest I’ve ever felt._

  “Let’s go,” Vintos said behind her, as his wife followed him out of the house, with Sansa bringing up the rear as she said, “Let’s not tell Medra or her children about it, please.” She liked the innkeeper, but the woman had such a loose tongue that Sansa felt a little distrustful of her.

 After walking a couple of still pretty much deserted looking streets beneath the rising sun of Norvos, and at seeing no sight of Sandor, Vintos stopped and said, “I think we should break into two parties. You girls go to Burnerk’s house. Maybe Edric went to stay with him–or pretty much anywhere you can think of. Since Alys said that he was a–he was drunk, I’ll go and see if the wineskin shops have any knowledge about him. He is a man who won’t be forgotten easily. I brought some coins with me. Take half to loosen any unwilling tongues.”

  Sansa and Frema nodded to everything Vintos said, a little in awe at how resourceful he was turning out to be in such a moment. _I thought Frema would be the one to know what to do_.

  And so they went in search of Sandor, to every single place Sansa could remember them having visited in this city. Everywhere except the river Noyne. Going so far from the inn would’ve taken all day. Gardens, bathhouses, shops, guild halls, markets, and squares, they went everywhere, but Sandor was not to be found. Sansa was feeling more and more upset with every passing moment. She felt detached and didn’t speak much with Frema as they walked from one place to the other, gazing through the crowds that were appearing as the day passed by. She did clutch her friend’s hand for support, but her tummy felt ill and knew that the moment she opened her mouth she was going to be sick.

  By midday, they returned to _The Three Bells_ to see if Vintos had found Sandor, but when they reached the inn neither Vintos nor Sandor were there. Frema threw a worried look at Sansa, but she just stared blankly ahead of her, wondering why this was happening to her.  “Darling, go to your house and rest while I make you a cup of _nili_ tea. You are looking so pale. When was the last time you ate some food?”

  Sansa didn’t feel like eating anything. She shook her head and said, “Yesterday morning, perhaps.”

  Frema gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll go get the tea. Please, rest at least for two minutes. It looks as if you were about to faint.”

  Sansa did as Frema advised, walking into her empty house starting to feel weak and heartbroken. She went to stare for some moments at their bed and then at the place where they had kissed, as she touched the space of wall she had rested against while they proved their feelings to each other. With a little shake of her head, Sansa went to sit in the dining room, tapping her fingers against the wooden surface of the table before her, thinking. _Where are you, Sandor? Oh, gods, please make him come back. I won’t bear much longer not knowing what has happened to him_. She hadn’t felt so bad since the days when she was a hostage to the Lannisters.

  After Frema came back with a mug of tea, two cups and a tray with bread and butter, Sansa had no choice but to accept a cup herself and nibble at the bread. It tasted like ashes in her mouth, but she didn’t want to refuse her friend’s consideration after the way Frema and Vintos were helping her out.

  “Alysanne, can I ask you something?” Frema asked her when silence had reigned between them for too long.

  “Of course,” Sansa said, letting out a sigh, her eyes shifted from the door to the window.

  “You said that after you and Edric kissed, Edric went away angry because back in your homeland everyone would deem him too beneath you to marry, is that it?”

  Sansa nodded, smiling sadly. _I don’t care about that. We’ll find a solution to everything, just come home Sandor, please_.

  “Has your family promised you to someone else? Or have they already done that and that is the reason why you crossed the Narrow Sea?”

  Sansa closed her eyes, trying to remember the face of the boy who had once been her golden prince, for the first time since Arman told her the news that he was probably married now to Lord Renly’s widow. _That is, unless Robb hasn’t defeated them already_.

  “I was promised to a boy once. I thought he loved me, but he showed me how wrong I was. Edric helped me get away from him. When I go back to Westeros, my marriage alliance to him will already be broken, not because I eloped but because our families are fighting against each other in the war that is destroying the Seven Kingdoms. But when I _do_ go back home, I am sure my family will expect me to marry somebody else.”

  Frema was listening intently, while her expression softened at times or her forehead frowned. “I am sorry, my friend, that the boy you were going to marry proved to be false, yet by what you said–that you eloped with Edric… forgive me, Alys, but that sounds as if when you first came to Essos, you and Edric were already–”

  She shook her head, a gesture which made Frema stop talking. “No, we were more like friends back then. Somewhere along the way after that is when things started changing between us.”

  Sansa remembered the days in the Kingswood, when she had thought of Sandor as the Hound, and then the night they had spent at the night of the inn of _The Stormed King_. She remembered their perilous voyage aboard _The Summer_ _Bird,_ and their days in Pentos before traveling along lonely Valyrian roads. And then she recalled the most recent memories of them in Norvos. _How can I explain to Frema when I started thinking of Sandor the way I do now? When did my heart stop being at ease unless he is beside me? When did “Sandor” and “little bird” become the names I cherish most in this_ _world?_

  “Alys,” Frema said, in a serious tone as she clasped her hands together. “I do not claim to know how the houses in Westeros work, and I am not going to say this for some selfish reason so I can get what I have been hinting about for some weeks. I am going to ask you this because I can’t see how you and Edric can go back to your home, feeling for each other as strongly as you do, without letting it be known to your families or the world that you two want to be together. That is why I am asking you, why you won’t consider staying in this side of the sea forever, living with Edric, forgetting who you used to be?”

  Sansa finally wrenched her eyes away from the lonely entrance to her house and looked at her true friend. She chuckled bitterly. “Living here with Edric while Arman rules over all of us from his High City?”

  Frema wasn’t amused. “You know I am not talking about living in Norvos. Whether it was in the village where I was born, or in Myr or Vaes Dothrak, I do believe you two have a greater chance of finding happiness here–at least together–than if you go back to the Summer Kingdoms. You could make a living from your embroidery and Edric could lend his sword, or become a blacksmith or something.”

  Sansa Stark didn’t want to think about all that now for so many reasons. _Sandor has to come back first before I worry about that. When the time comes to think about that, we’ll both find a solution to it. I can’t give him up for Mother or Robb, but could I give them up for Sandor?_

  “Frema, I–” Sansa began to say hoarsely when Vintos suddenly burst through the door, panting heavily, his cheeks red to show them he had clearly run all the way to here.

  The girls stood up instantly, asking Vintos what had happened, what he had he learned.

  “Did you find him? Did you learn something” Frema asked her husband while Sansa said, “Where is he? Is he hurt? Is he all right?”

  Vintos rested a hand on a chair for support, and answered, “I went to all the taverns and wineskin shops I could find, and not one knew anything about a tall man with half his face burned. But when I remembered that I had introduced Edric to Yuru’s tavern, because they served the best wine in this city, I went and asked Yuru and it took me some persuasion, but–”

  “Why? Oh, gods be good, Vintos. Please, tell me what has happened to Edric!” Sansa pleaded anxiously, going pale.

  “Yes, of course. Well, you see, Alys, apparently Edric was at the tavern all afternoon yesterday, drinking wine all the time he was there. Before midnight, he went away. A man heard me asking about Edric, and told me after I gave him some silver that he saw how a dozen guards of the Bearded Priests suddenly stepped from the shadows and ended up taking a man away with the descriptions I was speaking of, but not until the tall man managed to kill two of them and stab one in the leg. I think Edric was heading to Burnek’s because he was caught barely five streets away from the blacksmith’s house.”

  Sansa was hearing a loud humming inside her head. She blinked at Vintos when he was done, unable to believe what he had just told her. _Sandor was taken? Where? Why? Was Arman’s aunt behind this?_

  Frema was asking some of those questions to her husband, but Sansa felt utterly lost. _What have those guards done to him? How could Mellario’s people learn where he was? What could she do to set him free? Why had they taken him away in the first place?_

  “What can we do now?” Frema was asking Vintos.

  He scratched his blue mustachio, frowning. “The guards of the Bearded Priests only take men to the Hall of Punishment. We have to go and see if they took him there.”

  “Gods, what could he have done to earn being sent to that prison?” Frema whispered, her hand going to her heart.

  Her husband caressed her cheek as he said, “A family friend who works there maybe can help us learn.”

  Vintos went on talking, but Sansa wasn’t listening to him anymore. The moment he said Hall of Punishment, Sansa shuddered and closed her eyes. The name of that place sounded so dreadful, but at least she now knew what had become of Sandor. _I have to get him out of there–if he is there._

  “Let’s go there, then,” she told them, with a blank expression on her face.

  The Hall of Punishment was an ancient building located in a place of Great Norvos Sansa had never been to before, and she deemed it too grand to be in the Low City. The Norvoshi were so careful about putting all the pretty buildings up in the High City, and she found herself asking her friends why was this.

  “The nobles do not want to keep their prisoners all crammed up together up there with them,” Vintos explained, and Sansa could not say she was surprised. When they reached the wide tall doors of the prison, she groaned at the sight of the long line of people waiting to be attended by the officials working at the Hall.

  Vintos took the girls to a corner of the entrance hall, and told them to wait there while he went off to see if he could find his family’s friend. Sansa stood beside Frema, looking at the relatives of the men taken as prisoners, gathering that her face was probably looking the same was as theirs; anxious, sad, angry, tired. There were many people in the entrance, which made her silently begin to pray to the old gods and the new that they could somehow be listened to before everyone else. Frema started saying some things to her to ease her mind, but Sansa wouldn’t have been able to really listen to her friend even if she’d tried to. Her heart was at her throat the whole time Vintos was away, and they had to finally sit on a bench after a long time of waiting.

  At long last, Vintos came striding over to them with an old man at his side. Frema and Sansa stood up and were introduced to the official whose name was Galente.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Mallister. Vintos here has told me what has happened, and because his father has been my friend for more than twenty years, I confessed to him that we indeed received some time after midnight a prisoner with the traits he has described,” old Galente said, in a tired voice. There were dark shadows under his eyes and his grey hair was quite unruly, making it plain to them that being an official in the Hall of Punishment was no easy task. “Besides being tall and powerfully built, the scars that cover half his face I think are not easily mistook by another’s. And the gaoler appointed to him has remarked that the man spoke some words in the Common Tongue of Westeros.”

  “Yes, that’s Edric!” Sansa exclaimed, stepping forward to Galente. “Oh, please, tell us what has he done? There is no reason for him to have been arrested in the first place. Isn’t there anything I could do to set him free?”

  “You are wrong in that, Lady Mallister. I have been informed that this man attacked the High Magister of this great city, Arman Nervere. That affront clearly must be answered for.”

  Sansa blinked and stared at the man in disbelief. It was a good thing that Mellario of Dorne apparently didn’t have anything to do with this, but the magisters of Norvos were a powerful bunch who could very well stand as a threat to her and Sandor. And if Arman was the one to order Sandor’s arrest, could that make things worse?

  _Gods, why didn’t we leave this accursed city the moment we left his manse yesterday_? She had _known_ as she watched Sandor grabbing Arman by the front of his robes, before drawing blood from his neck, that it could not bode well for them, but after they left his house, she had been left alone and then she and Sandor has kissed at last, and then he had disappeared. She had forgotten about the retributions Arman could take as other matters took hold of her mind. She felt a sudden rush of hate towards Magister Nervere. Why did he have to step between Sansa and Sandor? _Why did I ever allow him to enter into our lives?_

  Frema gasped beside Sansa; Vintos looked at his feet, rubbing his jaw.

  “So Magister Nervere was the one to order the arrest?” Sansa asked the old official.

  “I do not know exactly who signed the warrant for the arrest, but whoever did was powerful and had the right to imprison him. Yet there is also the matter to consider that when the guards of the Bearded Priests went to arrest him, your friend ended up killing two of them and wounding one quite beyond repair. They are sadly taking the young guard’s leg as we speak.”

  Sansa should feel sorry for the guard, but she couldn’t. The only things she was feeling were a desperate anxiety to see Sandor and assure him that everything was going to be all right, as well as a strong feeling of hate towards the magister that had ruined everything.

  “Can’t I see him, please?” she asked Galente.

  The man looked touched by the sadness in her voice, but nonetheless said with a heavy sigh, “I am afraid that the prisoner can’t be allowed to see anyone. He is not accused of stealing a piece of bread, my lady. What he did was quite bad.”

  “He only didn’t it because Magister Nervere did me a wrong,” she told the silly old man. “And don’t call him a prisoner. He isn’t a criminal.”

  Westeros wouldn’t have agreed with her. Sandor _was_ a killer and he wasn’t afraid of boasting about his dark deeds, but that was the Hound to her. Sandor was so dear to her that whatever he had done before didn’t matter to her. Their pasts had to be forgotten if they wished to try and live a better future. The question she had to mind right now was how could she help Sandor get out of this place. _What can I do?_

  “And how long is he going to have to stay here?” Frema asked Galente.

  “Not long. His trial has been moved for tomorrow. He will be judged by the Council of Magisters of this city.”

  “But prisoners can’t be judged barely two days after their arrival here,” Vintos protested. “Two days is not enough time to gather–”

  “Someone of importance wants this matter to be settled as quickly as possible, and even if it is not tradition to have his trial set for tomorrow, the officials of the Hall of Punishment must listen to those who live in the High City.”

  Galente smiled a little knowing smile at her, and she saw pity in his little eyes. That gesture made her shiver in disgust. She didn’t need this man’s pity. She was going to take Sandor out of this place no matter what and she now knew how.

  “We’ll be back later,” she promised Galente, before walking away from this wretched hall, stifling a sob.

  Frema and Vintos walked quickly behind her, trying to tell her that everything was going to be all right somehow.

  Sansa stopped suddenly and looked at her feet before she whispered with a heavy heart, “They didn’t even let me see him.”

  There was so much that she wanted to tell Sandor, and now that they needed to comfort and assure the other, fate didn’t want them to be together. It was unbelievable. But she wasn’t going to give up. 

  “What are we going to do now?” Frema asked her husband and her friend.

  “We are going back to the inn for the horses,” Sansa answered in a firm voice. Sandor was in trouble and needed her to do whatever it took to get him out of that place. _He needs me to be strong for him_. “If there is one person who can help us then that is Arman Nervere.”

  Frema gasped beside her. “Alys darling, but–but–but he is the one who sent Edric to prison!”

  Sansa didn’t need to hear that. She had to rely on the hope that Arman wasn’t going to be resentful towards her if she could just talk to him and make him free Sandor. He was the best and only hope she had, and she wasn’t about to let it go. _And I have to see him now, before it is too late, if the trial was indeed set to happen tomorrow_. Would Sandor stand a chance if he was judged of attacking Arman by his fellow magisters, despite Arman being guilty?

  “Arman is a reasonable man. I am sure he won’t turn me away. If he believes he has the right to kiss me and to throw Edric in jail, then he should better believe as well he has the duty to hear me out.”

  Now that she had a plan, things seemed slightly better, but first she had to be sure she could count on her friends. “Will you please accompany me to his house?”

  They exchanged looks. “Now?”

  She nodded, resolute. _I am not going to let Sandor stay in some dungeon for a moment longer than he has to_.

  “Very well,” her friends agreed, and so that was settled _._ They headed back to _The Three Bells_ , while Sansa wondered what Sandor would bring along were he in her place. When they reached her house, she headed to the bedroom and searched for the dagger with the pretty pink stone in its hilt she had taken from the dead archer in the Kingswood months ago. _They will never think I’m wearing one, but Sandor will be proud of me for remembering to wear it_.

  Attaching it to her skirts, she then walked out of her house without a second glance, with Frema and Vintos at her heels. Heading for the stables, she stopped to look at Nan and Stranger. There was no question about which one she would be riding. Nan was her horse and could be ridden without fear, but Stranger was Sandor’s horse, and besides needing to feel the warhorse’s fierce strength near her for what she was about to do, it was evident Stranger would allow her to mount him before he ever did Sansa’s neighbors. So she ended up saddling Stranger by herself. The big black destrier looked into her eyes, as if remembering her, before he allowed her to put the saddle and reins on him. Her mare was a sweet thing, but Stranger was the fiercest warhorse and Sansa had never been very good around horses. She said a silent prayer to the gods that the horse wouldn’t end up throwing her off him, making her break her neck. She gulped and accepted Vintos’ help to get on the horse. For a moment, she just sat there, tense as she heard Sandor in her mind telling her that this was not safe for her, but dismissed that with a shake of her head. 

  “Do you mind sharing Nan between yourselves?” she asked Frema and Vintos.

  They didn’t, so Sansa set the direction to the Sinner’s Steps, whispering encouraging words to Stranger, assuring the horse that they would get Sandor back. When they finally reached the steps, her eyes fell on some caged bears that were going to be made to dance in Rozzo’s Square. She looked away, feeling ill, and spurred Stranger onwards up to the Sinner’s Steps. When they had gone all the way up to the golden gates, two tall guards with axes in their hands stepped forth to block their way, just as they had done the two times she had come this way. The older of them asked who wished to enter through the Golden Gates of Norvos, as his eyes looked them up and down, with a frown on his face. _He recognized me_ , she realized, her heart fluttering wildly.

  Sansa sat up straight from her high seat on Stranger’s back, remembering who she was, and said, “Lady Alysanne of House Mallister, from the Seven Kingdoms. I am a friend of the High Magister, and was but yesterday his honored guest at the ball he threw in honor of Magister Umeren.”

  “Wait a moment, please, Lady Mallister,” the guard replied, before he turned to his companion and they began debating whether or not to let her in.

  Finally, the youngest of the guards said, “You may enter, Lady Mallister. But your companions are not allowed to do so.”

  Sansa blinked in surprise. “Why?” she demanded.

  “Because we are not used to letting people of the Low City enter through the Golden Gates.”

  She could feel her anger rising inside her. “These good people were the Magister’s honored guests as well a day ago.”

  The oldest of the guards stepped closer to her, and said, “What is it that you wish to do in the High City, Lady Mallister?”

  “I am going to pay a visit to Magister Nervere.”

  “Do you or your friends have an invitation by the Magister?”

  She shook her head, meeting the guard’s eyes. “Because this is the High Magister we are speaking of, and because we are aware that you are indeed his friend, we will send two lads to accompany you to the Magister’s manse, but we will not break the rules of the Golden Gates by allowing so many people through them when they do not have an invitation.”

  “Gods be good!” Sansa exclaimed desperately. She had to get through those doors! The thunder of determination was loud in her ears and these guards would not stop her. She turned to look at her friends, who were gazing with wounded pride at the guards. She spurred Stranger towards them, not knowing what to say to them.

  Vintos spared her the need by saying, “We can wait for you here, Alys.”

  Frema nodded vigorously beside him. “We don’t want to leave you alone.”

  Sansa’s heart went out to them; gods knew how long this task she had to do would take. “I thank you for everything, but please return to the inn. Arman will surely send a litter to escort me home, so there is no need for you to wait here.”

  Her friends nodded and smiled sadly, assuring her that they would take care of Nan, before they turned around and went down the Sinner’s Steps. Sansa walked over to the gates, and had to wait a few moments for a pair of young looking guards to saddle their horses so they could escort her to Arman’s manor.

  When at long last they arrived at Magister Nervere’s house, Sansa was ready to face the man. _I thought I had seen the last of you_ , she thought as her eyes took in the sight of the seven-story manse.

  Sansa thanked the guards for their trouble with ill-concealed grace, and led Sandor’s warhorse to the stables herself. The stableboys looked unwilling to help her out with the black horse, which they clearly remembered was quite a ferocious animal.

  “I’ll be back,” she promised him in soothing tones, caressing his cheek. Stranger snorted in reply, and she took that as him wishing her good luck.

  Heading back to the entrance of the manse, Sansa was glad to see that the bald steward was already hurrying to meet her, with an expression of puzzlement.

  “Lady Alysanne, what are you doing here? I was not informed that we would be having the pleasure of a visit from you so soon.”

  “Good afternoon, Urroc. I fear I have arrived uninvited. I regret what happened yesterday, but I have a pressing matter to discuss with Magister Nervere that simply cannot wait. Do you think he’ll receive me?”

  Urroc looked surprised by her question. “Of course he’ll receive you, my lady. He was greatly saddened by the way you parted, and since you did not bring your sworn shield with you, I see no reason why Magister Nervere would not wish to see you and make amends.”

  By what he just said about Sandor, Sansa did not believe Urroc knew what Arman had done to him. They began walking up the stairs into the house, and as they stepped through the threshold Sansa said to Urroc, “I am relieved to hear that. Can the Magister see me now?”

  “I am afraid he is not here. The High Magister went to pay a tribute to a passing Dothraki _khalasar_ at the outskirts of the city.”

Sansa’s heart fell. _How long must Sandor be in the Hall of Punishment_? “Oh, can you not send word to him that I am here?”

  Urroc glanced at her curiously, as if considering whether or not the business she had with the Magister was as important as this _khalasar_. “I will see what I can do.”

  The steward led her to a living room near the entrance of the house, and Sansa sat on a luxurious couch, wondering how long she was going to have to be prepared to wait for Arman.

  “In the meantime, is there anything you would like?”

  Sansa tried to smile and shook her head. Urroc bowed and left her there in the room, alone to her thoughts. Her eyes fell on the various tapestries, tables, vases, and carpets in the room, while all the time they kept returning to the window outside. She clasped and unclasped her hands, and kept shifting places on the couch, sighing as her mind tried to picture what Sandor was doing right now. _Surely he must know that I will do anything to help him–even if it means begging Arman to let him out. I wonder what Sandor would have to say to that_ , she thought with a snort. She hoped with all her heart she was doing the right thing. _I would do anything for Sandor, but I hope this is the best course. I hope for that so much_.

  Yet she hated this. This necessity of having to rely on someone she didn’t trust. This dish tasted too much like the ones she’d been served in King’s Landing, when she thought Joffrey would spare her father, or when she was forced to pay for Robb’s victories. Back then, she endured it because she had wanted to live, now she had to endure it for Sandor. _But_ _he is worth enduring anything for_ , she thought, yet that did not make it any easier to stay in this house and wait for the outcome of what this day would bring. _Arman may be kind and nothing like the Lannisters, but I must not be fooled by his kindness. There is a price to pay for everything_.

She supposed that she would have to be honest with Arman and tell him as much as she dared about what had happened between her and Sandor last night, and let him draw his own conclusions about what was left unsaid. _I’ll have to tell him that Sandor was drunk and that he killed some guards, if he doesn’t know already._

  Whenever she found herself remembering the kiss she had shared with Sandor, it was hard not to stop tears forming in her eyes, but she was not going to allow herself to appear weak in this place. Urroc told her some time later that he had already sent word to the Magister that she was here, and the bald steward kept coming in to see if she was in need of anything, or sending servants to ask her the same thing when his duties kept him unable to visit himself. She must have waited for hours for Arman Nervere, growing mad within the walls of his house, but reminding herself that he was her best and only hope. At one point, she even went to spend some time with Stranger, kissing the dark horse’s nuzzle tenderly, as she assured the horse that they would get his maser back.

  Night had fallen when Urroc came back and ended up sitting with her in the living room, and though she didn’t think he really knew what was going on, he somehow sensed she was worried and so he tried to talk about trifles and make her laugh. She learned about his life, and how his father had worked for Magister Arman’s father, and he had spent his whole life serving the House Nervere.

  An hour later, Sansa was once again losing more than her patience. It was almost a day ago that she had seen Sandor, and she knew now that the thought of ever being able to part from him whether they were in Essos or Westeros was ludicrous. Nonetheless, when Urroc asked her if she would like to have dinner she accepted. _I haven’t eaten in more than a day._ _I have to gain back my strength for whatever’s coming_.

  So she followed Urroc to the nearest dining room, and was served spiced honey biscuits, pears poached in wine, trout wrapped in bacon, and roasted swan with some wine, as well as peaches in honey for desert.

  “Won’t you sit with me?” Sansa asked the steward as he bowed and turned to leave the room. At her words, he looked at her strangely, and she knew then that despite the kind treatment he’d received under this roof, he had never been asked to share the table with the family.

  To Sansa it was not uncommon to hear of having dinner with the people who lived to serve you. _Father always had different people at the table to talk with, whether it was Gage the cook or one of his lords bannermen_.

  “I do not think it would be wise, my lady.”

  “Please,” she answered, dismissing his hesitation. “I cannot bear to be left alone with my thoughts or I’ll go mad. Sit with me. I can’t be expected to eat all this food by myself, and I am sure Magister Nervere won’t mind it.”

  The bald steward smiled at her and sat down to have dinner with her. Sansa only nibbled a pair of biscuits and had a trout as she heard the steward’s tales. Her tummy was hungry, but she couldn’t really eat much with the sickening feeling she had on her belly, no matter how much she tried to finish her serving of swan.

  Urroc had been telling her about the time he went with Arman’s father to visit Vaes Dothrak, and how scared he’d been of the wild savages of the East, when Arman finally came home. _It was certainly about time._

  He looked magnificent in dark blue robes, as he strode into the dining room. Urroc had gone to do some task, and Sansa, with her dinner long finished, had stood up and gone over to look at the fire the servants had lit on the hearth, remembering the night of her father’s tourney when Sandor first told her about how his brother had shoved his face into a brazier for playing with his wooden knight.

  Magister Nervere coughed and said, “Good night, Alys.”

  She turned around to look at him, with a proud bearing of her shoulders and a face that revealed no emotions. The sight of the man who had started all of this made her belly coil painfully inside her, and Sansa could not help but notice that the way he was regarding her was somehow different.

  He looked more serious somehow, and even if his sharp features were not soft but hard now, he still looked like a handsome eastern prince from one of the songs she had heard Frema singing as they helped Medra the innkeeper with the cooking.

  “Arman, did word reach you that I was here?” she said, as the Magister closed the door of the room behind him.

  He bowed low and replied, “It did, but only after I had returned to the city. I am sorry to have kept you waiting until such a late hour, yet I must confess that I was very pleased to hear you wished to talk.”

  “And I take it that you know what I want to talk about?”

  He sighed deeply. “It wouldn’t have to do with Edric being imprisoned, would it?”

  Sansa’s eyes briefly flickered to the shining red cut on his long neck, and she said, “Of course it does. Did you send him there?”

  His sapphire blue eyes met hers as he shook his head. “No, I did not order his arrest. I understand why he behaved the way he did yesterday with me. He is your sworn shield and in his strange reasoning he thought you needed protection from me. But my fellow magisters took it as an insult that Edric threatened my life yesterday and was allowed to walk away unharmed. So they sent some guards to take him to the Hall of Punishment, to await their judgment.”

  To hear that Arman had not been the one to wish to put Sandor behind bars made her sigh in relief, even if she thought the magisters hypocrites because Arman was also to blame for kissing her against her will. She even smiled at Magister Nervere and said, “I am truly sorry for everything that happened yesterday, but you should never have kissed me, Arman. You and Edric behaved wrongly.”

  Arman chuckled sourly, his dimples decorating his cheeks. “I cannot say that I am sorry for the kiss, Alys, for it was heartfelt and the truth when I said that I love you and wish for you to be my wife. But I _am_ sorry for giving in into my desires. I should have waited to tell you what I felt for you.”

_Is he going to start declaring his feelings again?_ Sansa wondered in disbelief. _But I guess that if I let him pour out his heart to me, then maybe I can somehow use that on my favor to make him help me and Sandor._

  “Arman, I am not blind to the great honor that becoming your wife would be, and I am sorry for being unable to feel the same way about you. Yet if what you say is true–that you like me–then I must ask you now to help me. I know you are a true and honorable man, and can understand that while there can never be anything between us, that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. And friends help each other”

  A log crackled in the fireplace, bathing her and the Magister in the red glow of the flames. It took several moments for Arman to gather his thoughts. He went to fill himself a cup of wine before he said, “You _are_ my friend, Alys, and could be more if you would just give your consent to it. Yet no matter how much I feel about you, or that I understand why Edric threatened me, I must remember that I am the High Magister of Great Norvos. Norvos is not like Westeros. I am not a king to my people, and for that I highly thank R‘hllor. I have to discuss some moves with the council and can’t take decisions without–”

  Sansa couldn’t hear a refusal. “Certain decisions, not all of them,” she said pointedly. “What are you trying to tell me? That you can’t–or won’t do anything in the end to help Edric? A man in your position can sort this mess with a word!”

  “Alys, open your eyes,” Arman exclaimed. “If I am to expect to hold my position, I have to make harsh decisions. Edric put his dagger against my throat, making it plain to everyone that he intended to kill me. The magisters think he humiliated me by being allowed to walk away unharmed. I can’t go against them all. I had to make a choice and I did.”

  “I don’t care about what the council thinks,” Sansa said, angrily. Only too late she realized she was almost raising her voice to the point of screaming. “I am sure you forgot to tell them how you understood that, as my sworn shield, Edric had every right to defend me against the presumption you took of kissing me.”

  She couldn’t believe that she had come here to no avail. Arman had failed her and thus she had failed Sandor. _How am I going to take him out of that place now? The trial is tomorrow._

  “I see now that I was a fool in coming here. Now if you could please summon a litter to take me home, I would be thankful for that much at least.”

  Arman played with the contents of his cup before he said with a thoughtful calm look, “I’m sure you know the trial is tomorrow.”

  Sansa had had enough, she had no wish to hear anymore or remain in this house any longer. “I shall see you there,” she said, throwing him a look of dislike before she began to walk to the door so she could finally leave this place. _I guess I’ll have to walk all the way to the inn_ , was what she was thinking as she grabbed the knob of the door and turned it, only to find that it was locked.

  She turned to look at Arman in confusion, feeling a little nervous about the meaning of this closed door. _I didn’t even see him locking it up._

  “It’s locked,” she told Arman, standing straight and proud. “Will you, please, let me out? I am going home.”

  Arman ignored her words, and drank the remains of his wine. He looked at her again, and said in a quiet tone, “You could avoid the trial tomorrow and save him, Alys.”

  Sansa was already wary of the man before her, and as he continued, she realized that he was leading up to something.

  “Norvoshi are generous to those who please them, and you did more than just please the magisters and their families two nights ago at the ball. Everyone was dazzled by you as I told you before, and more than one declared that you would be the perfect wife to a High Magister. If I forgave Edric out of the kindness of my heart, then it could encourage others to threaten me. But if I forgave him in front of the whole city as a wedding gift to you, then no one would incite any trouble later on.”

  Sansa stifled a gasp. _He is so bold_ , she thought, snorting. _I can’t believe this_. “Arman, you have everything. Why won’t you just free Edric and leave us be?”

  “You say I have everything, yet I can’t have you.”

  “And this is the best way you could think of making me agree into marrying you? Let’s say I am mad enough to agree to it, what then? Will Edric be allowed to remain as my sworn shield despite everyone knowing that he threatened your precious life? Or would he be forced to go away and leave me at your mercy?”

  Arman suddenly stepped closer to her, and grabbed her hand. “I will never know why you think that marrying me would be so bad. You would not be at my mercy, Alys. I love you. You would be wealthier than the queen of your Seven Kingdoms, and would lead a life of never-ending splendors!”

  Sansa pried her hand away from his hold on her. “I don’t care about that,” she hissed at him. “To me, that would be a prison. To be sure, a golden one, but a cage nonetheless. Being married to a man I do not love is not my notion of leading a happy life.”

  She knew that Arman was not like Joffrey, but she could still not bring herself to betray her heart and Sandor–least of all now that she was starting to realize that if she couldn’t marry Arman, it was because she would never be able to be truly happy unless she forgot about everything and chose the man she wanted–the man she cared so deeply for.

  This realization must surely have softened her features, for Arman regarded the change in her with hard startling blue eyes. “And am I to make to believe that you would be happier with Edric? With that brute?”

  “I don’t care what you believe. Arman, I will not marry you.”

  Arman didn’t say anything for a long time, but he held her gaze without blinking. Sansa tried to remain aloof, reminding herself that no matter what she felt inside, the face she showed Arman must look composed, and never afraid _. I have to be brave for Sandor_.

  “So you will stand aside and allow Edric to be judged and found guilty, while you take comfort in the knowledge that at least you are still free of me?”

  To hear him say that Sandor would die with such certainty made her aware that, despite him being guilty, the magisters were probably already more than willing to not hear Sandor out about how Arman was also to blame, and would therefore try to end this before the sun set tomorrow. _It wasn’t him being a Clegane or Mellario of Dorne that harmed him. It was me and his willingness to protect me. It was his feelings for me that threw him into prison._

  She could feel tears on her eyes, and she suddenly felt unable to breathe. She walked quickly to the terraced balcony of the dining room, getting away from Arman so he would not see her face now.

  Sansa leaned forward when she reached the edge of the terrace, her hands tight around the balcony’s rail. She felt curiously light-headed. She could feel the Magister’s eyes upon her from behind. _I must not show any emotion_ , she reminded herself, but she already had. The city below her was covered in mist and fog and darkness, she could hear water from a fountain tickling somewhere below her in that deep dark void.

  A falcon soared above her, his wings spread wide against the night sky. _So lovely_.  _Would that I had wings as well._ The dark shape of the clouds against the sky didn’t seem so far away in this manse. It was almost as if she could reach them if she lifted her hand.

  What Arman said could not bode well. But she had to have faith in the gods and in Sandor, and in that they would overcome this as they had overcome everything else before. _And I have to have faith in me, and in my strength_. Sandor was in prison because of her, so she couldn’t abandon him now _._ Neither Sandor nor she would ever forgive herself if she agreed to marry Arman just so that Sandor could walk away from this mess unharmed. _I could marry Arman and set Sandor free, but we would both regret it and leave with the knowledge that something could’ve happened between us. We would never be able to be together again. Maybe I wouldn’t even see my family again_.

For a moment, she had been overwhelmed; the night’s cold breeze and the smell of the pines on the mountain were reminding her of the smells of her childhood: the smells of Winterfell. _I can’t give in into this pressure. I can’t betray my heart,_ _and I won’t lose Sandor over this._

  Arman Nervere had come up to step beside her on the balcony. Sansa shuddered when she felt his body beside hers, because she was all alone and Sandor was far away in some dark damp cell.

  “The night is cold and full of terrors, Alys. Come inside. You’ll catch a cold,” the Magister said warmly.

  Sansa turn to look at him angrily, and saw that even in the dark his blue eyes were shining mirror bright. When she didn’t move he sighed deeply. “Alys, words are wind, and the wind that blows people across the narrow sea seldom blows them back. If you agree to marry me, I will free an unharmed Edric. But if you do not, do you think that when Edric dies you will be able to go back to the Mallisters? You would still become my wife. Yet the latter would build a wall between us that could take me years to climb.”

  Sansa was simply hearing Arman as if she was in a dream. Yet the moment he brought his hand to slightly caress her cheekbone and told her that she blushed prettily, she snapped out of the suffocating dream and slapped Arman Nervere hard across the face. She’d had more than enough. _You’ve underestimated me and Edric for too long now._

  “Don’t you dare touch me ever again!” she told him with an icy tone.

  Arman touched the place where her hand had hit him, and chuckled. “You can have until tomorrow before the trial begins to decide. Here is the key to the locked door. A palanquin has been awaiting you all this time outside, that will see you and Edric’s horse safely back to _The Three Bells_. We shall meet again tomorrow, my lady.”

  Sansa snapped the key from his hands and left Arman in his terrace without another word.

 

***

 

  Sandor woke up in the dark with a bloody headache that was threatening to drive him mad. Blinking a couple of times to adjust his eyes to nothing, it didn’t take him long to remember where he was and why. _Fucking hells, what am I going to do now?_ he wondered.

  _Stupid cunt_ , he hoarsely rasped out loud as all the memories came back to him, starting with the kiss between bloody Arman and Sansa, making his head pound even more painfully. They had given him a flagon of water, but it remained untouched. His throat was raw, but the taste of water was like bile at the moment, and the shifted position made him want to retch. He was certain he hadn’t been in here for long. _Maybe a day, give or take._

  “I’m going to cut that bugger down when I finally leave this fucking place!” he cursed out loud, trying to get free of the iron chains they’d bounded his wrists and ankles in. He sighed in frustration and lay back down on the cold stone ground, trying hard to remember without passing out again.

  After he’d left the precious little bird at _The Three Bells_ , he’d gone over to a tavern to drink his fill of sour red, trying to forget seeing that fucking bastard Nervere kissing Sansa, but not really succeeding. He’d spent all day there, feeling like shit, and had finally returned home near midnight to face Sansa. He had stepped into their dining room thinking that it had been too long since he had had so much wine. He hadn’t eaten anything, and it had turned out he wasn’t able to hold his wine as he once used to.

  Sansa had been waiting for him in the living room, and when she started telling him off for leaving her alone, Sandor had tried to be mocking and nasty to her, but Sansa wasn’t easy to frighten anymore _. I let her in too deep._ He’d ended up pinning her against the wall and she had ended up bringing her lips to his mouth, and that was the moment when everything changed. The thought of actually daring to kiss her hadn’t crossed Sandor’s mind until then, yet the meaning behind the way she had been looking up at him had somehow entered his clouded mind and he’s known what she wanted to do. Yet he had been scared of risking changing things between them and of at long last kissing the woman he loved, so he’d hesitated for some fucking reason.

  But it was to no avail thankfully because when she brought her lips to kiss him, he had cursed the whole world to burn in all hells as he gave in to his desire, kissing Sansa back with all his might, trying to make her feel how much he wanted her and needed her after longing for her for so long bleeding long. He needed everything she could and would give him. Everything he had come to know and treasure since he had started living with her: the love and desperate frenzied of belonging to another and never wanting to let go. Sansa had been so eager to match his passion that he would never know how he managed to live through that tense moment they’d shared.

  Everything about it had been fucking marvelous. The taste and feel of her, and the way she had wanted to reach every part of him that she could as well. Getting such reactions from Sansa had been better than he would ever have imagined. He had never longed for anything or anyone in his life after Gregor destroyed his world- had not even remembered what it was like to be cared for or how it was to have a home, but Sansa had changed all that. She had been wild in between his arms, moaning and trying to posses him, always trying to bring herself closer to him, to the point where his throbbing hard cock had twitched inside his breeches, making him feel as eager as a green boy as her belly rubbed against it.

  _What a stupid idiot I am!_ Had the wine robbed him of his wits? Sansa had willingly kissed him back–had started the kiss, and said something along the lines that they couldn’t ignore whatever it was that was happening between them, and yet he had still left her alone. It had all been too fucking unbelievable.

  But the bloody wine had made him remember of all things that because she was a bleeding Stark, she had a duty to her kingly brother and her house and to the fucking bugger they would want to marry her to _. Instead of taking her to the stable and putting her on Nan and yourself on Stranger so you could both ride away into the gathering dark and never look back, you threw away your perfect chance at disappearing._

It hadn’t been until later, when the wine was leaving him that Sandor realized that he hadn’t really allowed Sansa to say anything when he confronted her about the future, for he had left her too suddenly. But it had all just been too much to bear at that moment. _She didn’t look like she was about to give me up_ , he gathered in the dark now. _Fuck, she even looked at me with the same thing I feel for her. I saw it in her eyes. It didn’t–doesn’t matter that she is a Stark and you are a Clegane_. _That she is a princess and you The Hound_. _The girl you love wants you back_. _She trusts you and you love her to the point of facing the whole world and earning its hate if that could mean that she would be free from any harm._

_We could stand a chance when I finally leave this place_ _and she dares go against her family for me._ Sansa would have to decide what to do about that one day, and sooner rather than later. He wouldn’t pressure her, but he did wish she wouldn’t have to think about it for long. _If she knows what she wants there shouldn’t be any hesitations- that is, unless she is too afraid to face her family._ But he had to have confidence and faith in her, and in what they had both felt and shared and lived with that kiss. Sandor had never believed in the gods, but Sansa had taught him that having faith was something he could do, and he had faith in her and in himself.

  Before the kiss Sandor wouldn’t have dared to do anything beyond toying with the possibility of Sansa giving up her family for him, but now it _could_ be possible. _Or even if she doesn’t want to give them up_ , _I hope she is willing to stand up for us to them_. He would be lost if she couldn’t do that. But after everything they had lived through, they stood a chance. The way she had clung to him and her mouth had demanded more and more of him where was what would reassure him in this fucking place. He had someone to live for now. Sansa was his world, his life, his best friend, and his bleeding love, and he _was_ bloody sorry for having left her alone and for having kissed her when he was drunk instead of any of the other countless times he could’ve done it before. But that’s over and done now. _We’ve done it and can’t go back_. Gods, he wouldn’t be able to be away from her for too long now that things had changed between them. _I wonder how she’ll be like around me now? Eager? Shy? Playful? Gods, how will I be able to restrain myself around her_? To remember the way her tongue had played with his, and the way her body had felt under his eager hands was enough to make him feel physical pain because he couldn’t be around her now. 

It was almost laughable to think that now they couldn’t be together because he had left her and got caught and sent to prison. Yet the moment when he did that, he became dimly aware that tomorrow morning everything would be all right. He had been clumsily heading to Burnerk’s because that was the first place that came into his mind where he could rest for the night, when all of a sudden a dozen bloody guards with shining axes told him to stop because he was under arrest for attacking the High Magister of Norvos..

  He had laughed in their faces, barely believing his luck; he drew out his sword and started fighting them. In the end, he’d killed two of the whoresons and wounded one badly, but the sight of the man’s leg splitting apart in a shower of blood as he swung his longsword at him had been the last thing he knew before someone hit him hard on the head with the flax of their bloody axes and he fainted. His head still hurt badly due to it, and he could feel the lump in his head whenever he tried to rest on the cold ground. _I suppose I shouldn’t complain. If they’d hit me with the blade of the axe well and proper there would still be chunks of my head decorating the street_.

  When he woke up, he had been in a dark place, but he knew instantly that he was in a cell. _Demanding to be set free won’t do me any good_ , he knew, so instead he waited as patiently as he could for someone to open the door of his cell. They had taken his sword and its scabbard and swordbelt, and that was what hurt him most. That they’d taken away Sansa’s gifts to him, and he hadn’t even been conscious when it happened. _I hope that those buggers at least had a hard time in dragging me from the street to this bloody place._

  What a fucking sodding waste of time–all these months being with the pretty little bird, pining and longing to have her only to get locked up the moment they kissed. It made him want to break someone’s neck to imagine that Sansa must surely need him more than ever now, but he couldn’t be with her. _And I need her as well_. _At least she is with Frema and Vintos, and won’t have to be on her own these days_.

  Sandor knew the little bird was going to go looking for him, and if she somehow learned where he was, he hoped that she wouldn’t go asking Arman sodding Nervere to help her, but he had a sickening certainty in his guts that seeing as he was the most influential man in this bloody city, that was going to be the case. And it would only be a waste of time, because Sandor had been told that he was here for threatening Arman, so either that lamb or his fellow magisters had been the one to put him here in the first place. It was fucking maddening to imagine his little bird out of necessity going to ask that shit for help after what he had done to her.

  He almost hated himself for not protecting her and keeping her safe, like he had told her long ago he would. How could he have expected he’d be left alone to walk freely in the streets after he drew a bit of Nervere’s precious blood? That was the problem. He hadn’t thought about it. He had been mad with jealousy and anger, and he’d been blind with pain.

  Remembering that the Magister of Norvos had probably been the one to put him in this cell, made him regret that he hadn’t at least cut Arman’s neck. _I only made him bleed a little and I’m here. I should have at least killed the bugger, so that I could call this a proper punishment_. _But it doesn’t matter._ He sensed that he would be made to answer for what he had done soon, and what he would do then he did not know. He sensed that a trial was in his near future.

_I’ll get out of it somehow, and take Sansa away._ _We will disappear from this city forever._ Sandor didn’t know yet where they would head to, but they would at least be together and that was what mattered. _Fuck, I would even dare risk getting close to those fabled dragons in Slaver’s Bay if she asked it of me_. It was not worth spit to him where they went, so long as he could keep her safe and she can be happy. The more he played over and over in his mind the kiss they’d shared, the more he was convinced that there was a chance for them to be together. _I’ll ask her to forgive me for getting drunk and leaving her. She knows me better than anyone. Sansa will understand_. _She has to._ _She is my little bird._ _And I will never leave her again, no matter what._ And if she wanted to return to her family… well, they would cross that bloody bridge when the time came.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For all the wonderful reviews I’ve received and the undying support, I thank you!! I am honored to have you reading this story :D Love you all! <3


	24. The Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Disclaimers  
> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)   
> *Because whenever I find that the muse wants to take a day off and leave me alone, my lovely betas are supportive and patient and very helpful, I stand up and applaud you in thanks!!: onborrowedwings, nysandra & swiftsnowmane :D   
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

  Of all the things Sansa could have remembered on the long ride home to _The Three Bells_ _Inn_ from Arman’s manse, it struck her as odd that it was Cersei Lannister’s words that kept running through her mind again and again. Why was she remembering them now? Sandor was in prison, and Arman had said that if she married him he would free him unharmed. But, as Magister Nervere’s guards escorted her against her will, supposedly for protection even after she refused the palanquin that had been offered to her, down to the Low City as she rode Stranger, the conversation she’d had with Queen Cersei–whose beautiful proud face she could oddly remember at long last with vivid clarity–on the morning of her first moonblood was currently invading her mind.

  _“Do you want to be loved, Sansa?”_ The queen had asked her as she sat in front of her in her solar.

  “ _Everyone wants to be loved,”_ she had replied.

  “ _I see flowering hasn’t made you any brighter. Sansa, permit me to share a bit of womanly wisdom with you on this very special day. Love is poison. A sweet poison, but it will kill you all the same. The more people you love, the weaker you are. You’ll do things for them that you know you shouldn’t do. You’ll act the fool to make them happy, to keep them safe. Love no one but your children. On that front, a mother has no choice_.”

  Sandor had been the strong one ever since she’d met him long ago. He had been the one who she had always trusted knew what to do whenever there was trouble.And thus, she’d thought as she left Arman to his twisted plans, that if in the end the only way to save Sandor’s life was by marrying Arman, she would do so though it killed her inwardly.

  She gathered that there was truth and wisdom in Queen Cersei’s words, but not all of it could be true. She _would_ do things for Sandor that she knew she shouldn’t do, and would even act the fool to make her big man happy, and most of all to keep him safe, just as he had done with her for so long. _But how can I marry Arman when I would regret it till the end of my days?_ She had felt no stirrings at all when he had kissed her–and that had been when she thought of him as good and honorable. _So why would things be any different now that I know his true self?_ That the High Magister would not mind marrying her against her will whatever the cost, knowing that she despised him, proved just what sort of a man he was.

  Shaking her head as she passed under the bright light of a lantern illuminating the street, Sansa closed her eyes and remembered the night she and Sandor had left Pentos–the day they had had their pillow fight–when they had been ready to rest after walking away from the coastal city all day long, and Sansa had ended up asking him why he had always been so hateful to her back in the Red Keep.

  “ _You would have been glad of the hateful things I did one day, when you were the queen, and I was all that stood between you and your beloved king_ ,” he had rasped in answer.

  _Did Sandor have some sort of feelings for me since then?_ _He did try to spare me from Joff’s wrath more than once, and saved me from the riot, and said_ enough _when no one else would speak for me as Ser Boros and Ser Meryn had me beaten and stripped in front of the whole court–well, no one but Ser Dontos and Lord Tyrion_ – _and we were not even true friends back then, I suppose. If things had changed between us, what would he have done? What would he have risked?_

  She tried to picture how, in some way or another, she and Sandor would have warmed up to each other as the years went by. _I would have been his queen and we may have ended up pining after each other, just like Queen Naerys and the Dragonknight._

  But Sansa’s life could be different. She had to believe that the possibility existed. She was no longer meant to be ruled by the Lannisters, nor was she foolish enough to believe life was a song anymore. The future was not promising if she betrayed her heart and became Lady Nervere, and Sandor wouldn’t even be around her then. No, she couldn’t do that to herself or to Sandor. _We’ve come such a long way from one possible tragic fate that I won’t end up stepping into another without a fight_.

  She just had to think on what she could _do_ that would allow the tide of fate to turn against that conceited worm that had weaseled his way into her life, as well as trying to convince the magisters to let Sandor be pardoned and released.  It made her shiver in fury that Arman thought he had a claim on her, as if she was his property. _As if I was one of his fabled animals or expensive house decorations!_

  The High Magister had underestimated her the way Cersei, Joffrey and everyone else in King’s Landing had done but Sandor. She was a Stark of Winterfell and had the blood of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn in her veins. She may have felt lost and desperate and alone all day long, and Arman had known this, but by now the cold night air was clearing her thoughts, and she was starting to consider that there _was_ another slightly hopeful route to take.

  Gods, how she prayed to the old and the new gods that this plan she was forming on the back of her mind would work tomorrow at the trial. Sandor didn’t believe in the might of the Seven or in the power of the heart trees of the godswoods, but she did, and it was inconceivable to believe that they had saved her from the lions only to have her marry the High Magister of this accursed city. _I have to behave tomorrow as if the magisters of Norvos are not our true enemies. Arman is._ If she could just turn the other magisters against him, there was hope.

  By the time she arrived at _The Three Bells,_ she was relieved to see that despite the very late hour there were still lights inside Vintos and Frema’s house. After asking Arman’s guards if they would please finally leave her alone and seeing them heading back to the High City, she dismounted from Stranger and led him into his stall in the stable. She was too tired to unsaddle him, so instead she pressed her forehead to his, whispering assurances to Sandor’s warhorse that they would save his master. In truth Sansa wasn’t fooled and knew she was really trying to reassure herself more than the destrier, but it didn’t matter.

  “You miss him, don’t you?” she asked the black horse. He neighed and she closed her eyes, sighing deeply. _When Sandor is safe and we are far away from here, he is going to have to listen to me, and he better be sorry for his actions_. For no matter how much she yearned for him to be with her now and always, Sansa was not going to ignore and forgive so easily what he had done. She was angry at him for threatening Arman of all things he could have done when that fateful first kiss had happened, and then for getting drunk and leaving her alone after _they’d_ kissed for the first time. It had been such a mad and excitingly wonderful moment, she had felt too stunned to even think properly or even understand what he was talking about at first. _I was so happy back then that I felt sure we would be able to brave the world together_. Sandor apparently had thought otherwise and gone away. _I gather that I can wait a little longer before telling him off for being so, so, so_ very _careless. The important thing right now is to get him back_.

  “We’ll have him back with us,” she promised Stranger; her eyes fell on Nan and she noticed that her mare was wearing her saddle and reins as well. After tickling her behind the ears and sliding her hand down her forehead and muzzle, Sansa stepped out of the stable and headed for Vintos and Frema’s, not even bothering to knock this time.

  She saw that the couple was sitting at their dining room table; they stood up the moment they saw her and headed towards her before she had even closed the door.

  “Alys darling, what happened? What did the High Magister say?” Frema asked her.

  “Is he going to free Edric?” her husband asked Sansa.

  Sansa gave a desperate laugh that sounded like a sob and went to sit on a chair by the table; the couple followed her with apprehensive expressions. Vintos took the seat beside her, and Frema began to pour Sansa a cup of some cheap wine. Sansa drank the cup in one gulp, to see if that would make her feel strong. She felt a hundred years old.

  “Please, Alys, tell us what happened. Is the trial still going to be tomorrow?” Vintos said, as she put the empty goblet on the wooden table.

  “Yes, the trial is taking place tomorrow,” she finally confirmed slowly. “Arman said he knew and understood why Edric had threatened him, but he told me he can’t afford to go against the magisters, for they took it as an insult that Edric was allowed to draw Arman’s blood and walk away unharmed.”

  “So it was the magisters and not Nervere who ordered the arrest?” Vintos asked her, his eyes momentarily meeting with those of his wife.

  “Yes, the magisters were the ones to order the arrest, yet Arman spoke of a way to stop the trial,” she said in a firm voice. “He promised me that if I marry him, he will forgive Edric. He said that the magisters wouldn’t be upset about that, and I guess they would probably allow Sandor to be exiled from Norvos as a wedding gift to me or something. Arman made it quite clear that if I do not accept his offer, he will do everything in his power to condemn Edric to death, only to end up marrying me anyways.”

  Frema gasped and Vintos blinked, uncomprehending.

  “Oh, my,” at long last Frema whispered.  “So he dared threaten you like that? What kind of a man is he?”

  “Unfortunately not the sort we thought he was,” Vintos commented grimly, running his hand through his hair.

  Frema was looking with so much concern at her that Sansa ended up lowering her gaze to her hands, unable to bear that look. Frema’s hand squeezed hers after a moment in understanding; she said, “Darling, if that were to happen, you–you wouldn’t agree to the High Magister’s–”

  Sansa didn’t let Frema finish. She could feel her tears coming, so she stood up and went to the window, turning her back to the people in the room so they would not see her cry, and she hugged herself. _I’ll do anything for him, but not until I’ve tried what I’ve got planned under my sleeve, whatever the outcome, whatever the risk_.

  After silence had reigned over their little party for quite some time, Vintos coughed and said, “Alys, I think you should know that while you were up at Nervere’s place, I went to make some inquiries.”

  Sansa turned around after she had dried silent tears from her face, frowning. “What sort of inquires?”

  “Well, you see, I was thinking about what would happen when Edric was a free man again, because it is possible, I guess; and it’s better that we are prepared. I gather that since he is in prison and you were meeting with Arman, neither of you would have thought about it, so I took the liberty to plan ahead and–and I know that we talked about all of us going to the village where Frema and I were born, but then I realized that Nervere will probably suspect that you would seek shelter either there or head back to Pentos, and then to Westeros. Even if Edric is pardoned and Arman would be expected to respect that, I’m confident it would be best that we surprised the High Magister.”

  “And what place did you come up with?” Sansa asked her friend, walking over to him. She could see that it could indeed be a good thing to go where everyone would least expect.

  The couple exchanged quick looks before Frema said, “Mind you, it will only work if Edric is declared innocent at the trial, so we can all leave this city tomorrow night. Maybe the morning after that could work too, but not any later.”

  Sansa looked at her friends, urging them to go on.

  “I went to visit Edric’s friend, Burnek the blacksmith, some hours ago. When I arrived at his forge, he was selling one of his swords to some merchant who prattled on and on about why he was buying the sword. He said that it was a gift for his young brother, who was leaving home tomorrow night, and the merchant wanted him to be well protected on his journey. I then asked him where was his brother going, and he answered that there is a caravan heading north and his brother will be in it. Maybe you and Edric could join it, and disappear forever from Norvos the moment the trial is done.”

  Sansa blinked. “But where in the north? How much would they charge?”

  _A caravan?_ She had heard of them, but had never set eyes on one. _I suppose that traveling across the Hills of Norvos with other people would be a good cover, but it all depends on where in the north this one is heading to–and also whether Sandor is acquitted of guilt,_ she reminded herself, with a shiver.

  “I don’t know its final destination, but they won’t be charging much,” Vintos was saying. “It’s no fancy folk the ones you’d be traveling with. Bakers, singers, poor tradesmen, woodcarvers, men who take their families away in search of a better life somewhere north; men who are not likely to pose a threat to someone as frightening as Edric. And I gather that if you don’t like where it’s going, then you can just stop following it whenever and wherever you like. True, there isn’t really much up there, but at least you would be safe because Arman wouldn’t expect you both to go there.”

  Frema was frowning and shaking her head, and apparently she could not contain herself any longer, for she said. “I was very proud of Vintos when he told me the plan he’d come up with. It’s really good, but I don’t like it because it would mean that tomorrow night is going to be the last time we all see each other.”

_I had not even thought of that!_ Sansa realized. She turned, eyes full of sadness of her friend, walking over to her so she could squeeze her shoulder. She knew by the desperate tone in which Frema had spoken, that coming with them to the north of Essos was not a possibility to them.

  “I understand, darling,” Sansa told her friend. “I really do. You’ve done so much for me and Edric already, I simply could not ask you or Vintos to leave your families and start all your lives over again just so you can journey to the unknown. If Edric and I do, it’s because we have to.”

  Sansa did not say the other reason she gathered her friends weren’t mentioning for not wishing her and Edric go to their village. _What if Arman decided in his anger at being foiled, that he wants to punish Vintos and Frema’s families for sheltering me and Sandor?_

  As Frema stood up to hug her, Sansa bit her lip. Vintos would probably be abandoning his work to go live at the village his parents had wished so much he’d leave behind, and it was all due to him and Frema not being able to stay in Norvos anymore, not without the fear of being punished for befriending her and Sandor.

  Sansa knew that leaving her friends was the right decision, but she still felt angry at Arman and at Sandor for putting her in this position. _If Arman hadn’t kissed me or turned nasty, and if Sandor hadn’t lost his mind and threatened Arman only to end up in jail, we could have spent some more time with Frema and Vintos_. It hurt her to recall that her friends would never know who Sandor and she really were _._

  She could not even tell the magisters tomorrow at the trial who she was and demand that they let Sandor go, because who knew what sort of advantage they would try to get from her connection to the King in the North. _They could even sell me to the Lannisters. And it could also endanger Sandor’s life._ Arman was Mellario of Dorne’s nephew, and if the magisters learned she was Sansa Stark, sooner or later they would somehow find out that Edric Goodbrook was in fact Sandor Clegane, the brother of the man who had murdered Mellario’s goodsister and her children.

  No, the magisters and Arman could not learn who they were. What pained Sansa were her friends. _I could tell Frema and Vintos, but it’s better for them if they never know. I wish I could ask them to dare take the risk of coming along with us, so that one day we could all live in Westeros, but if anything happened to either of them, I would never forgive myself_. No, however much Sansa loved her friends, her place was where Sandor went, and if it was better for him to go to the wild and unknown north, then she would follow whatever the cost.

  _I just hope it is the right decision joining this caravan_. She had never felt so much responsibility on her shoulders. Her decision to go or decline this way out could cost them their lives. _But_ _this is our only hope._

“There is just one thing,” Sansa said, disentangling herself from Frema’s arms. “If the council decides to punish Edric, and I agree to marry Arman so he stops them, and Edric is free, could you please make him understand that I’d want him to join this caravan no matter what?”

  Frema was looking at her shoes, but she nodded. Vintos met Sansa’s eyes and told her, “Edric will behave like a madman, but even if he hits me, I will make him leave Norvos before the dawn of the day after tomorrow. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I’ll do it.”

_Maybe Sandor could go back to Westeros and tell Robb to come for me_ , she thought absentmindedly as she smiled at her friend in thanks. _Gods, he will be so angry at me for saving him by marrying Arman, and_ _I just hope he can still be sensible enough to get away from here as soon as he can._ Arman may have promised her that if she married him Sandor would not be harmed, but Sansa suspected that once she was bound to Arman, he could probably nonetheless try to have Sandor killed and she would never even know about it.

  Later, Vintos and Frema helped Sansa pack her and Sandor’s belongings for tomorrow night. Vintos carried Sandor’s heavy armor to his house, while Frema packed two bedrolls; the maps of the East that Sandor had bought in Pentos, as well as some provisions into Nan and Stranger’s saddlebags. Sansa meanwhile folded carefully into a parcel the beautiful fur-trimmed coat Sandor had given her for her nameday. _I hope that tomorrow we can ride away together_ , Sansa thought, as she sat on her lonely bed, tears sliding down her cheeks. In the privacy of her bedroom, she allowed her fears and heartache to fall and show themselves freely. _If the only one to leave is Sandor, then I hope he forgives me for keeping the coat he gave me. I just need something to remember him by. He can take my wooden figure of the Maiden, I suppose._

  Sansa then went on to pack her little wooden figures of the Maiden and the Warrior, as well as two gowns, a pair of tunics and breeches for Sandor, their smallclothes (particularly the ones in which she had sewn her remaining jewelry) and four blankets to keep them warm. It wasn’t enough, but at least it was a little more than what they’d had when they were traveling in the darkness of the Kingswood. _It wasn’t very pleasant back then, but we managed to survive. We’ll be all right with this_. And she gathered that traveling in a caravan would mean that there would not be a need to hunt for food at least. _If we want something, we can just buy it or trade it with the other travelers_.

  Neither Sansa nor her friends slept on that endless night. Sansa knew that she should probably try to get some rest to gain back her strength, in case they did indeed need to flee the following night, but the thought of resting while Sandor was in jail was so inconceivable that she burst out laughing when her friends suggested it to her. Frema and Vintos talked most of the time in whispers, while Sansa knelt and prayed till she could bear it no more and her knees rubbed raw. When dawn broke, she could not face the thought of food. By evenfall, the outcome of the trial would be known, and Sandor would be either a free man or one condemned. Her belly was twisting so painfully into tight knots that it was very hard for her to endure without giving a hint of her resolution breaking.

  There was nothing to do, so it was pointless to keep on brooding on the matter. With a stony face, she took a quick bath and dressed in a clean woolen gown before arranging her hair in the most elaborated braid she could manage. _I must look pretty for them. It’ll be easier to get their attention this way_. She felt so strange. Like on the day when she had gone to Joffrey to plead for her father’s life in front of the court _. I depended on Joffrey’s mercy then, today I will take matters into my own hands_.

  And so when midday was nearly upon them, Sansa stepped outside the house into the courtyard, with Frema and Vintos behind her, remarking that the day would be grey and windy. They headed for the Hall of Punishment through the streets of this city which Sansa had come to think of as vile; she registered that today the streets were practically deserted. They’d been crowded a day ago. That unsettled her. _Where have all the people gone to?_ She wished to look composed on the outside, but in reality she was feeling a thousand times worse than the day before, when she had been searching for Sandor through these same streets.

  She found her answer in the Hall of Punishment, which was even more crowded than the day before. Vintos told a passing official who they were and why they had come, and the young man stared at them all and asked who Lady Mallister was. When Sansa nodded, the man shook his head dubiously, and said hesitantly, “I do not think your friends can accompany you to the dais, Lady Mallister.”

  Sansa would not be able to stand being inside that place without at least one of her friends beside her; with a bright smile that took all her self-will to maintain, she pouted and replied, “Please, do not let me go alone into that room with all those magisters. They frighten me.”

  Frema followed her lead. “Yes, we promise not to be in anybody’s way. We just want to accompany our friend in the difficult moments ahead into the courtroom.”

  “The courtroom?” the official said, looking puzzled. “The trial is not happening in a courtroom.”

  “W–what do you mean?” Sansa asked him. “Where is it going to take place, then?”

  “Well, since the man accused attacked the High Magister, it has been decided that he is to be judged before the eyes of the people of Norvos. The trial will be public, and is about to start behind the Hall of Punishment, over at the Plaza of the Just.”

  Sansa gulped and grabbed Vintos and Frema’s arms for support. _It’s just like what happened with Father_ , she realized, mouth hanging open. _Gods, why are you doing this to us?_

  “Alys!” Frema exclaimed, grabbing Sansa with both hands. “Darling, you’re about to faint.”

  Vintos looked angry. “But when was it decided that the trial would be public? Who said that–”

  “We received the order from the High City shortly before dawn,” the young official said, concern on his face. “Lady Mallister, would you like to seat for a moment? I can get you wine or water…”

  Sansa shook her head. _It doesn’t matter that it’s a public affair. If I just follow the plan I came up with last night, we still stand a chance_. “No, just–just, please–if you would be so kind, take us to the Plaza of the Just.”

  “Very well,” the official replied, and offered her his arm. She had no choice but to thank him for it and let him lead her to where Sandor was going to be judged. She tried to will her heart to beat a little slower, certain that the young man could hear it, but if he did notice the way she was trying to avoid trembling like a leaf, he was tactful enough not to mention it.

  They crossed a door at the back of the entrance hall that led to a wide chamber, where at least half a hundred officials were either singing and reading papers in the corners, or rushing from one direction to the other with tired or worried expressions. Vintos and Frema spared them curious glances that the officials returned, but Sansa looked ahead of her, paying them little mind. When they finally left the Hall, they stepped outside to a small path of trees on both sides that led up to the back of a tall circular dais with a dome made of gold for a ceiling. Looking up at the sky, Sansa saw that the sun of Norvos was still struggling to break through the clouds despite it being almost midday.

  After they walked down the path, the official climbed some marble steps and Sansa’s party followed. The sight that met Sansa’s eyes when she was on the dais took her breath away. Tall silver columns and arches surrounded the wide space where the marble dais and the town square stood, and tall statues of heroes and gods reflected the wealth of the Norvoshi. The large crowd had gathered in the open space before the raised dais, while some of the nobles of the High City sat in galleries nearby.

  Sansa saw that they were probably the latest newcomers on the dais, for all the magisters were already seated and accommodated into four different rows. Sansa had met them all at Arman’s ball, and she saw that they recognized her as well, for a loud murmur began when the young official conducted her and her friends to their seats on the other side of the dais, and all the magisters looked at them with a stern face _. It’s a good thing I can remember most of their names. When I have to act, it will serve me to let them know I remember them_.

  After thanking the official for his troubles, Sansa took her seat between Frema and Vintos. _I hope they don’t tell them they have to leave the dais_. If they did, Sansa would have to stay up here alone, and it would be easier for her to do what she was about to do if she had them with her.

  Feeling someone’s gaze upon her, Sansa lifted her face and saw that Magister Arman was looking at her intently with those sapphire blue eyes as his horrible friend Quallo whispered something in his ear. Arman acknowledged her with a wide smile and a nod of his head, while Sansa shot him a murderous look, ignoring Quallo’s penetrating gaze and nod as well. _Oh, gods, I cannot marry him. To see his face every day when all I wish it to claw his blue eyes out will be unbearable_.

  Her friends had seen Magister Nervere, too. “Who is that man beside Arman with those horrible flames covering his face?”

  Sansa tore her eyes away from the other magisters and answered, “He is a red priest. He used to be a slave in Volantis and he is the man who turned Arman into a believer of the red god.”

  “Oh,” Frema replied, shuddering. “I don’t like him.”

  “Neither do I,” Vintos and Sansa said at the same time.

  Frema and Vintos began to whisper to each other that being up here while the whole city looked up at them was the strangest thing they had ever lived; Sansa on theother hand, started to recall Quallo’s advice to her. _A new flame is kindled for every flame that gutters out. Remember those words and treasure them to your heart, for the time is approaching when you shall find yourself in need of comfort, and will be blinded to the opportunity before you. I have seen you in my fires, as well as the man who guards you_.

  The man had mentioned a time when she would need to be comforted, and she certainly needed that now, but not as much as having Sandor beside her again. _Quallo mentioned he saw me and Sandor in his flames. What does that mean?_ Sansa had no time to wonder about the answer, for in that moment she saw that Arman Nervere was walking in their direction. _Oh, no!_

  He stopped before Sansa and her friends, smiling warmly down at them, looking confident and happy. “Good morning, Alys. I trust you had time enough to consider my offer last night?”

  When Sansa refused to answer him, Arman sighed deeply, but didn’t stop smiling. “Ah, Vintos and Frema! My friends, I see that you’ve decided to accompany Alys in these tiring moments. I thank you for being such good and honest friends to her.”

  Following her lead, neither Frema nor Vintos responded to Arman’s addresses. Instead, Frema looked over at the crowd before them, while Vintos thought it wise to begin staring at his shoes.

  “I understand,” Arman said, caressing his cleft chin before he leaned down close to whisper something in Sansa’s ear. “I trust you don’t mind my decision to move the trial of your friend to this place, my darling. I just thought it would be better if you accepted my proposal before the people we will rule with R’hllor’s guidance, so that they can start warming up to you.”

  Sansa shuddered as she felt Arman’s warmth breath caressing her neck and ear, at long last realizing why Sandor was going to be judged before the city. _It isn’t the gods who are doing this to me._ _It’s this horrible little worm_. Well, if she could turn the magisters against him, his humiliation would be all the bigger.

  When he straightened up, she snorted and said, “So that they can start warming up to me, and see what a merciful man and loving suitor you are by pardoning the man who threatened your life because I asked you to, I believe would be more truthful.”

  Arman laughed. “Clever Alys. Yes, I must always remember my position and try to gain in every way the esteem of my people. So, I take it that it was not in vain that I sent word to my aunt Mellario to come back to the city, so she can start to teach you in the traditions of noble Norvoshi wives?”

  Sansa just stared up at Arman, with an incredulous look, wishing she could slap that smile from his face and make the dimples on his cheeks go away with the blow. Vintos and Frema could no longer pretend they were not hearing the conversation, and they also looked at Arman with dislike and disbelief plain on their faces. To hear that Mellario of Dorne was probably already heading for this city, only made Sansa feel more confident that she’d do whatever it took to have Sandor leave Norvos by nightfall. _At least Arman is so confident I will marry him without a fight that he does not suspect I will expose him_. She took as much comfort as she could from that.

  The High Magister seemed to decide to take her silence for approval of his actions, for he bowed and walked over to take his seat with his fellow magisters and his red priest. Sansa looked defiantly at her friends, daring them to show her pity. Vintos was biting his lip; Frema took Sansa’s hand in hers and squeezed it. “Alys, you cannot marry him! He is awful.”

  Sansa said nothing. When _Narrah_ rang across the city announcing midday some moments later, Magister Intak–the man whom Sansa remembered was the third most powerful in the council, and whose position was only below Arman’s and old Magister Umeren’s– stood up and coughed as loudly as he could to signal the start of the trial. The guards around the dais thumped their axes on the marble floor and silence fell upon them all. More than a hundred faces were looking up expectantly at those who sat on the raised dais.

  Intak regarded his fellow magisters and Sansa’s little party before addressing the crowd, “People of Great Norvos, it is a sad affair that brings us all here today. The Hall of Punishment and the Plaza of the Just have both seen their fair share of unnamable crimes and dark deeds, but never before has the most noble and ancient order of the Council of Magisters been offended in the way it was two days ago. The world looks up to the High Magister of Great Norvos as someone who is worthy of respect, so what happens when a foreigner attacks the man we chose to look over all of us? Please, my friends and fellow magisters, consider that as the trial progresses. Guards, bring in the prisoner.”

  Sansa was biting her lip and frowning at Magister Intak. She did not like one bit the meaning behind those words. Her heart was beating madly inside her chest, and this time she could not help herself. She grabbed both of Frema’s hands, and began to silently pray to the gods to help her today as Sandor was suddenly brought up to the dais by an entrance beneath the marble ground of the dais. Ten guards escorted and surrounded him from all sides.

  A little whimper escaped her the moment she saw him again. He strode across the dais, looking tall and strong and menacing even if he hadn’t any weapons, only his breeches, his boots, a tunic and his mail. It was the Hound who was the man before her. _He looks so dangerous_ , she could not help but think. She quickly regarded him from head to toe, searching for any signs that showed he’d been hurt, but besides the flakes of dry blood falling from his bound wrists as he pulled at them, he looked to be all right from this distance, so she sighed in deep relief.

  His burned face was twisted into an angry scowl as he regarded the assembled crowd and then the magisters, whom he looked at with mockery and contempt. When his grey eyes finally met her blue ones, his mouth began to twitch and his features softened just a little bit in relief at seeing her again. The change was barely noticeable, but Sansa had spent a thousand mornings waking up in his arms and had learned the way his face would soften in those vulnerable moments. She could distinguish some of those traces now.

  Sansa blushed as she recalled the kiss they’d shared. She could now remember clearly every detail of it with vivid clarity. The way his tongue had felt against her, and the manner in which he had caressed her body while she pressed herself against his need had been overwhelming. Her audacity at that had startled her; it also evoked dangerous and exciting feelings inside her. The thought of never being able to have him hold her again was unbearable; she bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

  Sandor must have noticed her struggles, for he winked at her in a way that Sansa knew was trying to assure her that everything would be all right. It was so hard to try and tell him things just by looking at him when she longed to never let him go. _I should have tried to see him yesterday at all costs. I should have insisted till they agreed_.

  She wanted to run to him and hug and kiss him, and draw the promise from him that they would never ever be apart and it made her go mad to remember that she couldn’t do so. And then, it finally struck her why the sight of him was affecting her so. _I love you, Sandor._

  Sansa had never dared admit those words to herself. Not until this moment had the veil of fear been lifted from her eyes, and she was overcome by how much she felt for him. And thus, taking strength from this new and beautiful realization, and despite the threat of death and danger that hang over their heads, she smiled at him in encouragement, knowing that her smile looked a little tremulous. Sandor grinned back at her in a way that reminded her once more of the Hound. _Gods, please, please, watch over him_ , she kept repeating under her breath again and again and again. _And give me strength to turn the magisters to my favor._

  “Alys, stop looking doe-eyed at him,” Frema whispered at her urgently. “Magister Nervere is watching you. I don’t think that could bode well.”

  Sansa was sick of that name and everything related to that man. She looked over at Arman with disdain, only to see that he was regarding her with an amused frown, a challenging gaze and an eyebrow that was arched in a questioning manner. _I don’t care. He can look all he wants, but my heart belongs to Sandor_. _I am not Arman’s wife yet. I can do as I very well please._

  Sandor meanwhile was being conducted by the guards to the middle of an empty dais. The guards left a bounded Sandor alone and went to take their place on the walls of the raised dais. Sansa saw that he had now caught sight of Arman Nervere as well, and now Sandor was not hiding what he felt. He looked angry and was mockingly smirking at the magister and his red priest. Sansa groaned and kept on looking between the Magister and her big man, fearing that some new trouble would surface from this, but Arman and Quallo looked composed as they returned Sandor’s gaze. _The last time they were together was what caused all of this mess_. How would all of this end?

  Sansa squeezed Frema’s hands, and remarked in a desperate whisper that she wished Sandor would not anger the proud magisters with his behavior, just as Magister Intak regarded him with a stern look and said, “We must and shall begin. Edric Goodbrook, you stand accused before us today because all the magisters witnessed the way you insulted and manhandled Arman Nervere, the High Magister of Great Norvos, to the point of almost killing him two days ago, at his house. It is quite a serious charge which you cannot deny. What have you to say in your favor?”

  Sandor rasped without a moment of hesitation, “Why am I being judged alone? Why isn’t Nervere here beside me answering for what _he_ did? I am accused of offending a magister who is guilty of insulting the honor of the woman I am bound to serve.”

  It was evident that the magisters did not know that Arman had kissed her, because they all looked confused and started talking to each other, clearly at a loss. People could be heard laughing in the crowd. A tall skinny magister with oiled black hair parted in the shape of bird wings that Sansa remembered was called Haguritz, stood up after a moment and exclaimed loudly in a puzzled tone, “What do you mean by a guilty magister? What has Magister Nervere done to deserve that accusation?”

  Sandor snorted. “I’ll tell you for all the good it’ll do me. It would be better that I saved my fucking breath. The morning after the ball, I went for a piss while Nervere and Lady Mallister were talking. When I returned, I overheard Lady Alysanne rejecting Nervere’s offer of marriage. By what I heard, it was clear that she had no bloody intention of accepting him and had even rejected him twice, but the bugger didn’t mind her and forced a kiss on her. I saw that Nervere did not give a shit that Lady Alysanne was struggling against his kiss, and so I stepped in to help her. It was my duty as Lady Alysanne’s sworn shield, so I pulled them apart. That is when the lot of you stepped in and saw me putting a dagger on that bastard’s throat. Come now, you fucking bastard. Deny it.”

  At the tale of how she had rejected Arman’s proposition, many of the magisters began looking amused as they regarded Arman, some smirking, others nodding in disbelief, and others chuckling discreetly. Despite the loud noise the commoners before the dais were creating, Sansa still managed to overhear an old magister near her exclaiming to another, “It appears Nervere finally came upon something he cannot have. My, my, I wonder how he took it.”

  His fellow magister laughed and said, “I hope it teaches him a lesson.”

  Sansa knew the time for her to intervene was drawing closer. Her hopes were soaring as she heard the opinion in which the magisters of Norvos regarded Arman, but then Arman stood up, his penetrating gaze never flickering away from Sandor, and he said loud and clear, “I take it, then, that you are admitting and confessing you were about to kill me, back at my own house under my own roof, Edric?”

  Sandor stared at Arman with an amusing look and snorted in disbelief. “That is _not_ what I said, you little buggering shit. Clean the wax from your ears before you speak of matters you think you understand, or else you’ll go on behaving like a fucking bloody fool. You are already one, and while it’s fun to watch you prancing about thinking that you aren’t, I don’t want you to behave like that when I’m involved. Anyways, did you not hear the part where I said that you forced Lady Mallister against her will to kiss you? You compromised her honor. So I ask again why aren’t you being accused of that?”

  “Whatever happened before you put your blade on my neck and tried to kill me,” Arman replied, “I am afraid is not of consequence today, Edric. I remind you that you stand accused of attacking me, and that is the matter that will be resolved before long.”

  Sandor regarded Arman with a stony face, and then suddenly, without any warning, his burned face twisted into a mocking grin, and he began to laugh long and hard at the High Magister’s face. Some people in the crowd, Sansa noticed, were either laughing along with Sandor or looking as confused as she felt.

  Sansa groaned as her friends shook their heads in disapproval and all the magisters made angry noises.When Sandor finally stopped laughing and told Arman to go bugger himself with a hot poker, the trial continued.

  “Yes, indeed, the High Magister behaved wrongly to be sure,” Magister Intak said at last in an irritated tone. “But we must be reasonable, Goodbrook. The matter at hand here is how you drew the blood of one of our ancient order. I do not comprehend why you had to do that to the High Magister over a kiss. We all saw you then. You even declared that you told the High Magister that you were going to kill him, and had wished to do so for quite some time. It was obvious you wanted to kill him on the spot, and only after your mistress pleaded with you to stop your murderous behavior did you finally come to your senses. I trust you know how serious what you did is.”

  “What about the kiss Nervere stole from the lady?” someone suddenly shouted in the crowd, making Arman lower his gaze to the marble floor. Another man shouted, “I want to steal a kiss from her, too!”

  “I am not calling you a liar,” Magister Intak hastily went on, turning to look at Sansa and bowing respectfully. “Please, kind lady, do not believe that I mean that the honor of such a high and respected woman as yourself is of no consequence, because it _is_ , and I am sure that if we questioned the High Magister and you, your story would prove to be true. But, in the end, it was just a kiss. What Magister Arman here did was not as drastic as what your sworn shield did. If you like, when this matter is settled, we shall look with more depth into the disrespectful gesture the High Magister committed against your person.”

  Sansa could take it no more. To think that all of these silly men were choosing to forgive Arman’s behavior was unbearable. She would not contain herself any longer. _I must be as strong as my lady mother_ , she thought, before taking a deep breath. She closed her eyes and then stood up, clearing her throat loudly, drawing the attention of more than a hundred people to her. No one had expected her to speak. Her eyes locked with Sandor’s and she saw that he was not expecting this, either. His smirk suddenly abandoned his face and he looked wary. Sansa caught a quick sight of the way his whole body tensed, and tried to let him know with her eyes that she knew what she was doing. _I want to go to you, but I can’t. It’s not allowed and if I go to you, I’ll ruin my chance of having them hear me._

  “Magister Intak, may I speak?” she said, in a clear and loud voice she hoped sounded confident, wrenching her gaze away from Sandor’s burned face.

  Intak blinked at her in confusion, but when Arman stood up and said with an encouraging smile, “Yes. I beg you, my friends, let Lady Mallister speak,” Magister Intak nodded in agreement. Sansa gulped, ignoring the look on her friends’ faces and the sea of eyes all around her. She turned her face to where the magisters of Norvos were, and bowed to them in respect before she addressed them.

  “People of Norvos, I would first like to thank the good magisters for the kind way in which you received foreigners into your midst. Your warm welcome draws in me the necessity to be honest with you now. I certainly understand the position that you are in today. You feel insulted because my sworn shield threatened one of yours. But you must remember that his duty is to protect me. He is bound to keep me safe. I know that a kiss may not seem too much to you all, but what would you have to say if I told you that the man you have placed as High Magister is a conceited cruel man who reeks of corruption?”

  Magister Intak blinked again. Silence reigned on the Plaza of the Just as the meaning of what she had just said sunk in. Everyone was watching her. Sansa could almost hear Sandor asking her what she was doing, but didn’t pay that any mind, because she was now taking a pleasurable delight in seeing that she had surprised Arman.

  There was a flicker of uncertainty in his startling blue eyes that assured her that he had not expected this, and nor had Quallo seen this in his fires, it seemed. _Did you think I was about to succumb to your wish? That I was about to declare I agreed to marry you in defeat?_ If so, this was further proof that this man would never understand her. _Oh, no, I am about to expose you, dear Arman, for what you are._ Sansa knew that the magisters would probably not care about what she thought of Arman’s wish to force her into marrying him due to the way everyone in King’s Landing had ignored her feelings, but they _would_ care to learn the twisted ways of the man who led them.

  A magister with a big belly stood up and asked what everyone was surely thinking. “Please, Lady Mallister, tell us what you mean by this. Of what are you accusing High Magister Nervere?”

  “Well, Magister Telet,” Sansa began, conducting herself as best she could, “Though it pains me to have to disillusion you and the people of this city about the man you thought Arman Nervere was, I feel it is my duty to inform you what he told me last night. Out of a desperate necessity to free my sworn shield, I went to the High Magister’s house to ask him to be merciful and pardon and free my protector. I thought, just as you do now, that I knew him well and could count on him being a good and honorable man who could forget a slight, but he showed me how wrong I was. The High Magister did not offer to help me. Instead, he made his intentions quite clear to me. He said that if I agreed to marry him, he would influence the council into sparing my sworn shield’s life, gaining the approval of the city by seemingly doing a kind deed. When I refused to submit in such a fashion, he confidently boasted to me that whatever the outcome of this trial, he was going to force me into marrying him one way or the other.”

  “Seven bloody buggering hells, he did what?” Sandor rasped beside her, just as a loud murmur was heard once again in the gallery before her and loud noises started in the crowd. Sansa spared Arman a quick look to see how he was taking this humiliation, and was vexed to see that he was looking at her with admiration, even when the crowd started to shout insults of “coward!” and “Don’t know why that woman is making such a fuss. I’ll give away my wife to Nervere if he wants her!”

  Magister Haguritz, a tall man with black hair shaped like bird wings, ran a hand through his oily hair and said, “Lady Mallister, if the Magister indeed did as you say, despite it being an–an act that lacks tact and honor, we can deal with it another day when we will be able to pay it proper care and consideration. We ask you to remember that the matter at hand today is that your sworn shield–”

  Sandor apparently could not restrain himself any longer, for he angrily shouted at Arman, “You little sick fuck! Are you so bloody desperate to–”

  Sansa, afraid, shouted before Sandor could finish, “Edric, please, please, stop! Don’t!”

  Sandor stopped in mid-sentence and looked at her sullenly; people whistled rudely in the crowd when he did as she said. His eyes were looking at her in such a way that made Sansa’s knees go weak, but then he turned to face Arman and spat in his direction. The crowd laughed, but the magisters all looked as if they were starting to change their minds about the public trial. Some of them were regarding Arman with disapproving shakes of their heads, and Sansa could barely contain her smile at that.

  “I understand, Magister Haguritz,” Sansa continued after a moment, “but I feel differently from you. You can’t expect me to let you condemn my protector because he saved me from a false man. I hold you all in a high esteem and cannot believe that Arman Nervere is the sort of man you wish to rule your city. I trust you can see that selfish actions and disregard of the consequences that forcing me to marry him against my will, could not bode well for the welfare of this city. Your great city is in danger from the highest threat–”

  Arman interrupted her at long last. “My dearest Alysanne, what danger could possibly come to Norvos from us marrying?” He asked her with an edge to his voice, standing up again. “I always have the welfare of my city as the most important priority in my life. No wrong would come to the Norvoshi by our union.”

  Sansa was ready. “You seem to be ignorant, Magister Nervere, that my House, the Mallisters of Seagard, have served Robb Stark, the King in the North, loyally since the beginning of his war against the throne. When word reaches them of what you were allowed to do to me, sooner or later they would come to seek justice and revenge, and their liege lord and king would come with them.”

  Arman frowned and looked over at the magisters, with a little smirk that implied he did not believe what she had just said was possible. His confidence suddenly made her realize that her case was maybe not as strong as she had fooled herself into believing. Catching Sandor’s gaze, Sansa gave a little shrug which he returned with a shake of the head, an arched eyebrow, and an understanding expression on his burned features. _It was the only thing I could do_ , she was thinking, before the commoners of Norvos started shouting at the magisters that they didn’t want some foreign king and his army invading them over her. The magisters meanwhile started conversing amongst themselves about what to do next, and after several heartbeats that felt like an eternity to Sansa (an eternity which she spend looking at Sandor, as they both let their souls bare to the other), Magister Intak nodded and turned to face the mass of people before him. He raised his arms asking for silence, and coughed once more before he said, “People of Norvos, we promise you that it will not come to that. Westeros is far away and we are protected inside the Hills of Norvos, and for what Lady Mallister just said to occur, King Robb of the North would first have to win his war against the Iron Throne. Still, to prove our good faith, we have all opposed the High Magister’s wish of marrying her, and hope that when he tries to marry again, Arman Nervere will be wiser in his choice of bride and method of asking.”

  Sansa’s face broke into a smile as she looked at Arman with a mocking grin. She was not surprised to see that he looked very angry and humiliated. Never before had she seen him like that, and his handsome features did not look attractive anymore, twisted in the hard way they were now. _He won’t be able to go against the magisters’ decision now and marry me–not when Great Norvos has heard_. Sansa, feeling triumphant, tore her eyes away from him to Frema and Vintos, who had this whole time simply looked on in silence at the events unfolding before them, and were now smiling or nodding approvingly at her behavior.

  “I thank you from the bottom of my hearts, good magisters,” she told them truthfully, smiling at every one of them in turn.

  “However,” Magister Intak continued in a foreboding tone. “We cannot forget or forgive the disrespect that your sworn shield did to our order. Magister Nervere has been proved to have behaved badly, but he is still a member of our council, and we simply cannot let Edric Goodbrook to go unpunished for trying to murder the High Magister.”

  “Magisters!” she heard herself shout desperately. _No, no, this isn’t happening_! _I must stop it._ “Please, as a kindness, believe me when I say–when I promise you upon my honor that Edric was not intending to kill Magister Nervere!”

  “Lady Mallister, please,” Magister Intak interrupted as Sansa felt the floor shake beneath her feet and the crowd before her stirred again, “we have listened to your defense and agreed to protect you when you are left alone in the city. We shall commission guards from the Bearded Priests to escort you back to the Seven Kingdoms in a matter of days. But we ask you in return to hear and respect what follows. Whenever a matter is brought to the attention of the council, each magister must give his opinion about the question at hand. Let us begin from the lowest ranking magister. Magister Vennun, if you could please stand up and begin…”

  Sansa opened her mouth to protest again, not allowing herself to believe that this was happening, but when she caught sight of Sandor she could simply not bear it anymore. She was about to faint. Her mouth hanged open in a wide O as she realized that her strategy had not succeeded in saving Sandor _. They are going to condemn_ _Sandor no matter what I do or_ _say_ , she realized, feeling ready to faint. _I’m free of Arman, but I have lost Sandor. It was all for nothing_. Sansa had counted on the magisters forgiving Sandor after they learned that he had harmed a corrupt man, but they didn’t seem to care about what Arman had done, only that he didn’t do anything in the future to compromise them. She’d rather they had not forbid Arman to marry her now, for the chance of saving Sandor by succumbing to Arman was lost. _Gods be good, what have I done? I failed Sandor._ She could not believe what was happening. _Why did I ever speak?_ _I ruined it! He is about to be condemned to death because of me. I’ve lost him. Gods, did I ever really have him?_

  It was as if the past was repeating itself, coming back to haunt her. The same desperate and helpless emotions, and the awareness that she could do nothing to stop the world from wrenching away those whom she loved from her. _It’s just like what happened with Father_. This time there were no guards to stop her from running to Sandor the way there had been when Ned Stark had died, but Sansa could not move. She was rooted to the spot. Frema and Vintos stood up beside her, patting her arm or shoulder, whispering her to be strong.

  And so the long ordeal began. Every magister stood up and gave a speech about what they believed should happen to Sandor, but Sansa knew that the outcome had already been decided long before the trial began. _I knew since I left Arman last night at his house._ It was still so painful to endure _._ Sansa stopped hearing what they had to say after the fifth magister stood up and spoke. _They will kill Sandor no matter what._

  While the magisters declared his fate, Sandor had meanwhile chosen to remain silent for the most part, yet he would still at times smirk or snort at his executioners, and his eyes never flickered from the men before him–his hard gaze so intense upon them that it almost seemed as if he was committing all their faces to memory. Her crumbling hopes were starting to be etched by tears one by one, because the prideful magisters said there was no other way to till the sorrows of life and love.

  After Magister Intak declared that Sandor should suffer the penalty of death, he turned to look at the oldest member of the council, who was the magister closer to Sansa and her friends. He smiled at her as he stood up, but Sansa could not return his smile. This old man was Magister Umeren, the man Sandor had insulted at Arman’s ball after Umeren had called him a knight. _He is sure to remember the slight just as Arman did._ _All old men remember._

  “Magister Umeren, since Arman Nervere cannot cast his vote in this matter because he is closely connected to it, you are therefore the last magister to speak. You are the eldest of us all, a grand wise leader of men, and only the High Magister is above you in power. Thus, it is clear that your vote in this matter is of paramount importance.”

  Magister Umeren smiled at the council and bowed his head respectfully at the crowd, waving at them all. “You honor me more than I deserve with that kind praise, my dear Intak. But it is true. As the eldest of you all, I am a leader of the council and stand only behind the High Magister. Forgive me, but before I cast my vote, I think that my position entitles me to say something to the accused offender if I please, does it not?”

  Everyone looked curiously at the old fragile man as he walked slowly over to where Sandor stood, while Magister Intak stepped aside respectfully. The old man’s eyes regarded Sandor quietly for a long time before he said, “I remember you.”

  Sandor’s eyes narrowed. “And I you.”

  “Yes, if I recall correctly, didn’t you insult me at the ball that was being held on my honor?”

  “What of it?” Sandor snarled, yet he was sneering at the old fragile man.

  “Oh, nothing,” the old magister replied, shrugging, as his eyes twinkled brightly. “I just wished to remark upon it. I am not afraid to admit that it made quite an impression on me. _No_ _one_ has dared say anything so disrespectful to me in years besides my loving wife, you know, who, by the way, has still not forgiven you for the way you treated me when we met. She called you a rude, nasty, horrible fellow, but I had to remind her that sadly in the times that we live in, young men–or even young ladies on some occasions–do not tend to treat their elders with respect the way my friends and I did when we were young.”

  Sansa blinked at Magister Umeren, wondering what he was getting at. Her cheeks were wet from the tears she was shedding, and her head hurt appallingly. She began to pray to the old gods and the new that they would allow her to wake up at last from this nightmare as she took out her handkerchief to brush away the tears of sorrow that were threatening to blind her vision.

  Silence reigned in the dais for many heartbeats, and at last the old man went on. “Yes, when I was young everything was different. From the way children behaved with their fathers to the way magisters acted on the council. I can still remember all the trials I’ve been to since I was a lad. But no one recalls anymore the old laws that our ancestors created when Valyria was a strong empire, and which still rule us today. Forgive me, but for the life of me I do not remember, is Westeros familiar with the way Valyria ruled? In any case, you see, before, honor was a code that children became familiar with before they ever started learning their letters, and when a trial took place in this city, the men entrusted to rule Great Norvos were not so easily blinded by the benefits gold or power can bestow upon them, even when they are used in the most infamous of manners. Yes, these are quite shocking times. Are your Seven Kingdoms different?”

  Sandor’s eyes never left the old man’s face as he went on and on, and Sansa could not discern Sandor’s expression, for everyone was looking with incredulity at Magister Umeren, and some of the magisters were even rolling their eyes at him. Magister Intak coughed politely and said, “Magister, we–we hold in great esteem the years of service you have dedicated to the Council. We all know the grand deeds you have accomplished, and certainly envy you your knowledge of the past, but if you could, please, _only_ address the matter at hand, we would appreciate it very much.”

  Magister Umeren looked ashamed. “The matter at hand? What was the–? Oh, yes, yes, Edric Goodbrook’s sentence! Forgive me, my friends, but the mind of a man who has lived for as long as I have tends to wander from the present and stray into the tangled web of memories he carries within him. But now I really must go on. Very well. Edric Goodbrook, before I cast my vote, I would like you to be aware that, since we are civilized men, your death will be a clean one. You were defending the honor of the lady you are bound to serve, and in the end you did not kill Magister Nervere, whatever your initial intentions must have been. So beheading, I think, would be a nice way to go–a smooth, clean quick death. What do you think of that? Oh, but I almost forgot! How foolish of me. Before I proclaim my sentence for the grievous fault you committed, I would like to ask you if you had anything to say. Because, as you may know, the sentence is final and there will be no going back now, and certainly no appeal. So, any last words?”

  Sansa looked up at her dearest Sandor with wide eyes.

  “Yes,” he rasped, “there is something I would bloody well like to say. I demand my right to an ordeal by combat!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Deeply thankful to be receiving such encouragement from your reviews!! It’s all done for you, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter :) <3


	25. The Old Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)   
> *My dearest betas: onborrowedwings, nysandra & swiftsnowmane, thank you SOO for the help with these tricky chapters and incredible support. Couldn’t be doing this without you!! :D   
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.  
> \- I would like to dedicate this chapter to nysandra, for sharing with me her wide knowledge and ideas that only served to make this chapter better :D   
> *Warning: Character’s death.

  The silence that greeted Sandor’s words seemed to go on forever. Sansa gazed at Sandor, a frown creasing her forehead. _What?_ was all she could think through her pounding head. A long moment passed, and in the end it was old Magister Umeren who was the first to speak. He blinked and said, “I’m sorry, Edric, but I am an old man and didn’t quite catch what you said. Could you please repeat your words?”

  Sandor Clegane turned his hard grey eyes to look at Arman Nervere’s face as he loudly rasped once again, “I demand my right to an ordeal by combat!”

  Magister Umeren stepped away from Sandor, addressing everyone present.  “Oh, I see. So you are invoking the old law our ancestors created? Hmm. Why, this is a surprising turn of events. You _do_ have the right to an ordeal by combat, we must admit, but wouldn’t you prefer a nice quick beheading and save us all the trouble? I have always been told that it is not painful.”

  Sandor smirked at the old man, but not in a nasty way. “Small chance of that happening. I choose an ordeal by combat.”

  Umeren sighed deeply, gave a resigned shrug, and clasped his hands together. “Very well. If that is your wish, we cannot oppose it.”

  Sansa was staring at Sandor and at the old magister in awe, not really comprehending what was happening, not understanding the words they were exchanging, and yet her heart was starting to beat faster in nervous excitement. It was as if the nightmare she had been living in was turning into a dazed dream.The sound of Arman Nervere’s voice, suddenly interrupting Umeren’s words like a cracking whip, startled her out of her strange reverie. 

  “Magister Umeren, please,” the High Magister exclaimed, standing up from his seat beside Quallo, the red priest, and he walked over to the front of the marble dais. “You cannot be serious! This man drew my blood–almost killed me under my own roof, and now you want to give him what he wants? What are you talking about? Of course we _can_ oppose it! And we must and will do. That law is so old that it has lost all of its validity!”

  The old man suddenly seemed to stand straighter and stronger. He turned to face Arman, while the latter looked between him and Sandor with incredulity plain in those beautiful sapphire blue eyes.

  “High Magister, I know that there are times when my mind tends to wander away from the matter at hand,” he told Arman with a puzzled face. “But I am quite certain that in this case, Edric Goodbrook has every right to demand an ordeal by combat if that is his desire. The law may be old, but it was never abolished, and thus remains as valid as all the rest that rule us to this day. I am afraid that I find it a pity to be as young as you are, Magister Nervere. It is a sad day when a smart man in your position foolishly thinks that because he has never seen something happen with his own eyes or in his life span, it cannot be true. The same could be said, I believe, of those reports of dragons in Slaver’s Bay you were telling us about last week. You have never seen one, and yet you were so keen to believe in them, and not only that but also to convince your fellow magisters of their existence. And while I have never seen a dragon myself, I _did_ attend in my youth many ordeals by combat. The last one Great Norvos saw, if I recall correctly, even had your own father present, Arman. We were both already magistrates back then, and saw how Galleanat of Lys fought against Rhenek Clarut, the fearsome warrior of the Hills of Enderu, in the sight of the gods. Ah, yes, it’s all coming back to me now. It was a hot summer’s day, a rare thing to see in Norvos, and–”

  Magister Intak, the man presiding over Sandor’s trial and who was the third most powerful magister in the council, coughed politely in interruption. “But, Magister Umeren, we must be reasonable. To think of allowing a foreigner who dared attack our High Magister be granted this is quite inconceivable! An ordeal by combat is simply not possible.”

  Magister Umeren was apparently ready to deflect that argument as well. “It _is_ possible if the crime is serious, Intak. And, I trust, intending to kill Magister Nervere is a matter serious enough for the council as well.”

  The old man’s head turned to regard his fellow magisters curiously, and Sansa followed his lead, noticing that some of them were shifting uncomfortably in their seats, and others looked with pensive or stony faces to Arman, Sandor, Intak and Umeren. Sansa’s hands started to twist around her wet handkerchief nervously, awaiting the answer of the council with the rest of them. Even the mob was silent for once.

  Finally, a tall lean magister with a fair head and curly beard stood up and spoke in a somber bass voice that betrayed his Norvoshi heritage, “Magister Umeren is right. The old law existed in Valyria, and is still accepted today. As leader of the Council of Great Norvos, you have the authority to grant Eric Goodbrook’s demand, Magister Umeren. Are we to take it that it’s what you intend to do?”

  Umeren nodded. “Indeed, I do grant it, Magister Pelletz. Goodbrook has asked for something more than valid, and it is our obligation to obey what our laws dictate.”

  Magister Pelletz nodded, stroking his beard. He looked over at Sansa momentarily and then said, “No one in the council can overrule you in this, so it is evident we do not have much choice in this affair. However, old traditions must be followed. The Council shall cast its vote once more, now taking into consideration this turn of events for whatever it serves.”

  And so all the magisters, except for Arman, voted again. _This_ time, the outcome of it proved to be in favor of accepting Sandor’s request for an ordeal by combat. Something had stirred some fear in the magisters that stopped them from opposing their elderly leader in front of the whole city, and as each magister stood up and agreed, either reluctantly, sullenly, or defiantly that the ordeal by combat was granted, Sansa and Sandor kept exchanging quick glances, as their smiles inevitably came to their faces. _You can defeat anyone_ , she wanted to tell him, aware that he already knew this _. You’ll defeat Arman’s champion and take me away from this horrible place_.

  Only two magisters declared that they refused to grant Sandor his petition, but two magisters meant nothing. _I cannot allow myself to believe in this,_ Sansa thought. _It’s too good to be true._ Sandor–the fiercest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms–being allowed to fight for his life was the best news she’d heard in days. All of Sansa’s doubts about what the bleak future would bring after this trial were wiped away as she gazed at her big man, who was no longer standing alone.

  The last man to speak was Magister Intak. He looked terribly uncomfortable as he looked between an increasingly angry Arman and a calm, patient Umeren, nervously biting his lip before he sighed and proclaimed, “Very well, I agree to an ordeal by combat. Let the accused be allowed to prove his innocence, or suffer the consequences of his guilty actions by the will of the gods.”

  This betrayal by his fellow magisters seemed to have undone Arman Nervere. He appeared simply infuriated and was looking daggers at Umeren and Sandor, the former smiled innocently at him and the latter began to laugh in his face, a sound like the snarling of dogs in a pit. Sansa’s heart was soaring as the loud tremor the crowd was making agitated the stillness of the air again. _Arman can’t do anything now, for he must accept the verdict._

  “The day is growing late,” old Magister Umeren said as loudly as he could, raising his arms for silence. When everyone obliged him and silence was again settled on the Plaza of the Just, he continued. “And since I seem to be the only one that remembers how ordeals by combat are supposed to happen, I will tell you all how we will proceed. Tomorrow morning, at sunrise, when Edric Goodbrook and the High Magister’s champion are rested and with their strengths at their best, the combat shall begin. It will take place in this very square, and the champions will come forth to swear an oath of honor to the gods of Great Norvos before their song of steel begins. May the Mother Rhoyne, the Old Man of the River and the Crab King and all the rest of the gods have mercy on their souls. Guards, take the prisoner away. Oh, before I forget, Magister Nervere, who do you wish to step forward as your champion?”

  If Arman answered Magister Umeren, Sansa did not see or hear it, or care much about it in this moment. She was too stunned by happiness to do much. The moment she saw the guards of the Bearded Priests step forward towards Sandor to take him away, she thought _do it now_ as her heart took hold of her will and reason, and she quickly tried to make her way to reach him. She’d registered she still had her wet handkerchief in her hands, and thus, with an outstretched hand weaving its way between the formidable guards that tried to stop her from getting closer, Sansa’s hand met Sandor’s huge one, and as their fingers brushed against each other, tearing a blissful sob from her chest, she let go of her handkerchief into the care and trust of Sandor.

  His eyes never left her face as their hands made contact, yet the moment the guards separated them, he looked down and grinned at the sight of her favor in his hands. Sandor looked at her with such a warm intensity that only made her heart beat faster. The guards gave no opportunity for them to speak, and before the blink of an eye they were escorting Sandor back to his cell, and Sansa was left starting at their backs, her mouth hanging open a little. When Sandor turned his neck to look at her one last time, Sansa bit her lip as she tried to smile at him, waving goodbye.

  The moment they touched must have lasted a heartbeat, yet it had been so powerful to touch Sandor again, after the trials they’d been forced to endure separately for the last couple of days, and Sansa felt shaken. _It doesn’t matter. It’s only for one more night. Tomorrow Sandor will kill Arman’s champion and we’ll be together again_. Sansa had been so intent on reaching Sandor that she was not aware of a pair of intense blue eyes never leaving her since the magisters agreed to the ordeal by combat.

  “I will be the High Magister’s and this city’s champion!” exclaimed a voice heavily flavored with the accent of the East that was uncommon to these regions.

  Now that Sandor was gone, Sansa remembered where she was. Her eyes quickly registered that the large crowd which had gathered in the square in front of the dais was already departing, tired by today yet eagerly anticipating tomorrow’s event. Sansa turned around to see who had spoken for Arman, and was not surprised to see that it was Quallo. _It still scares me that it’s him_ , she thought, as his brown eyes roamed over her from head to foot.

  Magister Umeren’s lip twisted in distaste as he gazed at Quallo, but didn’t say anything. Apparently there was nothing wrong with the red priest championing Arman.

  “Arman, is that all right? Do you approve of him fighting for you?” Magister Intak asked the High Magister. When Arman failed to answer, Sansa looked over at him triumphantly and defiantly, only to see that he was already looking at her. _How long has he been staring at me?_ She wondered with unease, realizing that he was so lost in gazing at her that he didn’t hear–or was appearing not to have heard–the magisters addressing him. Sansa wanted to look away, but once his eyes were locked with hers, it was hard to move. He was regarding her in such a hard way that she was rooted to the spot.

  Then, abruptly, he turned his face away from hers and told Umeren, Intak and Quallo, “I do not believe it is in the laws, old _or_ new, to state which two champions will be fighting against each other until the combat. You’ll know my answer tomorrow.”

  “We can hardly wait to hear it,” Magister Umeren told him, bowing to Sansa respectfully and then to Arman before he started to walk away. His guards followed him, and Sansa was considering running after him to thank him for stressing how important the old laws were, when suddenly she saw that Arman was heading her way. She gulped, steeling herself for whatever he had to say, reminding herself that she and Sandor had won today, for despite the initial feelings of desperation and loss, hope for at least another day was born.

  Before Arman reached her, Quallo laid a hand on his shoulder and whispered something in the High Magister’s ear, his long cracked yellowish nails contrasting poorly with the expensive fabric of Arman’s robes. He nodded absentmindedly, and with a brief furious nod in Sansa’s direction, the High Magister walked away, followed by his faithful red priest and Magister Intak.

  Sansa was regarding Quallo’s thin short built and comparing it with Sandor’s when Frema and Vintos stepped up beside her. “Goodness, this is–this is good, isn’t it?” Vintos whispered, incredulous.

  Sansa nodded. “I think so.” _Yes, it has to be. Sandor is deadly with a sword. No one can withstand him. Maybe his brother, but thank the gods he is far away_. She’d suffered so many disappointments for the last couple of days that she was afraid, and hesitant of feeling certain of tomorrow’s outcome until it finally happened and she saw it with her own eyes. “Let’s go back to the inn.”

  Her friends nodded, and together they made their way down the dais, through the streets of Norvos, until they reached _The Three Bells Inn_ near dusk. Once they had entered the safety of the couple’s house, Sansa and Frema took a seat, too stunned by everything that had happened to talk much. Vintos, on the other hand, paced the room back and forth, frowning in hard concentration, and he finally said, “You know what this will mean, don’t you? Having the ordeal by combat tomorrow?”

  The girls looked puzzled and shook their heads. Vintos answered, “It means that, since the caravan is leaving tonight, you two will not be able to get out of the city with it.”

  _Gods, that’s true_ , Sansa thought, worried. “But if it’s a caravan they won’t be traveling very fast, will they? I’m sure that if they leave tonight we can still manage to reach it on the road once–once Edric wins. We just have to know in which direction they are heading.”

  Vintos thought about what she’d said for a moment. “Yes, I suppose that’s possible. What I wanted was for you to hide at the gates of the city amongst the other travelers to attract less attention, but it doesn’t matter anymore. We’ll all leave tomorrow together, and when we are far away from here we’ll take our separate roads.”

 Sansa looked at Frema and Vintos with a teary smile on her face. “I thank you so much for everything you are doing for me and Edric, my friends. I–I don’t think that I’ve ever met such nice people before.”

  Frema returned her smile; Vintos didn’t really seem to hear her. He was still frowning, as he said, “Edric was wearing his mail, and we have his armor. Do you think they confiscated his sword?”

  “Yes,” Sansa said, nodding. “He was not wearing the scabbard or the swordbelt I gave him for our namedays. In fact, now that I think about it, they may not even allow him to use his own sword tomorrow.”

  Vintos shrugged. “I guess that’s possible. He killed guards with it when they went to arrest him, so maybe they wish to keep his weapons as evidence or something. No, I think–I think I had better go and see if Burnek has something he would be willing to donate to Sandor. He is a blacksmith, there must surely be a sword he is willing to part with for this. I’ll go to his forge now and check. Can I borrow Nan, Alys?”

  “What for?” Frema asked as Sansa answered, “Yes, of course.”

  “Because Edric’s armor is here. I can’t carry it around the city by myself; it’s so heavy. I’ll attach it to Nan’s saddle, and then I’ll go back to the Hall of Punishment to leave the equipment in the hands of the man responsible for the combat’s arrangements.”

  “Vintos, you can’t do that all by yourself,” Sansa exclaimed. “I should go with you and help–”

  “No,” the couple interrupted at the same time, making Sansa stop talking. She looked puzzled at them. Frema answered, “Darling, no. You are going to stay here and try to get some food, and some rest.”

  _What? I can’t rest while Sandor is in jail awaiting tomorrow’s combat_. The thought of her going to sleep while this was happening was simply not possible.

  “I can’t,” she told her friends, trying to make them understand and see her position. “I have to be doing something to keep my mind from straying to all the possible ways tomorrow could go wrong. I can’t do this to Edric–”

  “Do what exactly?” Vintos asked her, with an amused expression. “Alys, you’ve been doing everything in your power for the last two days for Edric’s sake. You went to Arman’s house, and spoke against the Council of Magisters in front of the whole city to try and convince them that Edric had done nothing wrong. You even exposed the man we all thought to be good and kind to us, in an attempt to see if that would allow Edric to be pardoned. I am sure that Edric will be more cross at you growing ill for his sake rather than at you not going with me to Burnek’s.” 

  Sansa sighed. There was truth in Vintos’ words, and now that the prospect of tomorrow looked a little better than it had this morning, she was sensible enough to allow herself to rest a little and eat something. She nodded in reluctance while her friends, and Frema exclaimed, “Good! You really do look very pale and ill, Alys. We were afraid you would faint at any moment at the Plaza of the Just.”

  “I was going to,” she admitted. “The moment they declared that Edric was going to be condemned, I was ready to faint.”

  “Thank the gods you did not, or you would have missed its outcome,” Vintos commented, as he started taking Sandor’s armor piece by piece from their bedroom to the stable outside in the cobblestone courtyard.

  “I think Magister Umeren is not as senile as he lets on,” Frema confided to Sansa once Vintos had gone away and the woman had brought some food for them. Sansa was lying down on her friends’ bed, drinking a cup of buttermilk and nibbling at some lemon cakes, feeling only a little better.

  Sansa nodded in agreement. “I know. I think he is the leader of the council and the second most powerful man of the magistrates for good reason. He is a wise man.”

  “Do you think Arman will allow Quallo to fight for him?” 

  “It is possible. The man has a terrible influence on Arman. Maybe he will give the High Magister no choice on the matter.”

  “But Edric is very good with a sword,” Frema said. “Vintos told me that Burnek had confided to him that he had never seen a man so skilled with a blade as Edric.”

  Sansa smiled at this praise, remembering the first time she ever saw him fight in the tourney King Robert held in her father’s honor so long ago. _No one has been able to defeat him yet, and Quallo won’t be the first one. I can’t allow myself to imagine what will happen if Sandor dies tomorrow. I will break if he does_. But maybe she was being a little silly. Sandor had cut his way to her side the day the mob attacked them in King’s Landing, and they’d had him thirty to one. No one dared face him back then. _Tomorrow shouldn’t be any different_. She closed her eyes to try and recall the way Sandor’s burned face had been transformed into something terrible to behold. _I hope that’s the last thing Arman’s champion sees._

  Since this was the last night they would spend together, Frema and Sansa tried to talk a little of happier days, but the threat of what tomorrow would bring never really left them. Yet at one point Sansa found herself closing her eyes, and no matter how much she tried to fight it, she ended up falling into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

  When she woke up, it was because Vintos had come back. He closed the front door and the sound startled Sansa out of her slumber, and her movement woke up Frema, who was now sleepily looking around her as she asked what the matter was. Sansa was up before she had even blinked her sleep away, and went to meet Vintos in the dining room.

  “What happened?” she asked him.

  Vintos smiled. “All is settled. I took Edric’s armor and sword to the Hall of Punishment, and left them with the guard’s commander that was settling tomorrow’s last arrangements.”

  Frema came out of the bedroom, stretching, and said, “And will they give Edric back his equipment if he wins?”

  “He _has_ to win,” Sansa said.

  Vintos replied, “Well, they said that they will be returning everything to him, but his sword. It was like I thought. If Edric hadn’t killed the guards with it, it would be all right for them to give him back his sword, but they now want to keep it as evidence.”

  “Oh, I see,” Sansa said. _How I wish I’d learned like Arya did when little to distinguish the different sorts of steels out there_. “And what about the sword Burnek allowed Edric to have? Is it any good?”

  The smile in Vintos face returned. “Well, the bald tall blacksmith heard me out with a silent frown, and when I was done he gave me the sword he himself uses against Edric whenever they train together. He said that apparently Edric complimented him on it once, and that since this was his friend I was talking about, he didn’t mind giving away his finest work if it could in the end save Edric’s life.”

  Sansa sighed. She didn’t like trusting her or Sandor’s life to a man she didn’t _really_ know that well, but what other choice did she have? Arman would surely be giving Quallo the best sword gold could buy. Sandor had to have steel that would not break upon the impact. 

  “These are good tidings!” Frema exclaimed, oblivious to everything that could go wrong tomorrow as she clapped her hands together.

  “I just hope it’s good steel and Burnek isn’t playing us false,” Sansa commented.

  “I don’t think so,” Vintos assured her. “The commander of the guards said that the sword Edric Goodbrook would be using was better steel than any he’d seen in a long time, and Burnek even accompanied me to the Hall of Punishment to tell the commander that he will assist Edric tomorrow.”

  “Assist?” Sansa asked, puzzled. “Like a squire?”

  “What’s a squire?” Frema asked, confused.

  “I think my father once told me a squire helps a knight,” Vintos said. “But, yes, the commander said that each champion needed a man who had proven knowledge of arms and fighting to assist them, in case they needed something, such as water, or fetching their arms for them. The commander said that Magister Nervere had not yet declared who would be either his champion or his assistant, but approved of Burnek after he saw the man’s fine work.”

  Sansa nodded, biting her lip. _I suppose we can trust Burnek, then_. Thankfully, her head was hurting less now that she had eaten and had rested briefly, and she felt better than she’d felt all day long.

  “Tomorrow, on our way to the Hall of Punishment we must stop by Burnek’s house, since its closer to the city’s gate the caravan will be leaving from. He gave me his keys, and said that the moment Edric wins and the combat is over, we must all head for the horses as quickly as we can and get away. So, come now, girls, we’ve already packed Edric and Alys’ provisions. It’s now our turn.”

  “Very well,” the girls said. Sansa helped Frema pack her and Vintos’ clothing, while he went for provisions to the inn’s kitchen. As Sansa was folding one of Frema’s gowns, her friend said, “Darling, if–if Edric were to lose tomorrow, have you thought of what you will do? I mean, will you ask old Magister Umeren to honor the Council’s promise to send you home, or will you come to the village with Vintos and me?”

  Sansa didn’t want to think about that. _I do not know if Robb is winning his war_. What if she went home and, gods forbid, she discovered they had imprisoned Robb and Mother? A thousand things could go wrong if she went back to Westeros alone, but Sansa could not bear to live in a village lost deep in the Hills of Norvos without Sandor _. I would have to probably live there for all my days. No, no. Sandor will–_ he must _–win_. She looked at Frema and answered with a confidence she did not entirely feel, “There will not be a need for me to choose. Edric will defeat his opponent, whoever that man turns out to be.”

  When _Narrah_ announced midnight, Sansa once again prayed to the gods, for now that the trial was a few hours away, hesitations started running through her mind, and she could not help herself and started wondering what could possibly go wrong.

  _Give strength to Sandor’s arms,_ she prayed. _I know you can help him even if he doesn’t believe in you_. She tried to play over in her head everything that had happened at the trial, but couldn’t do a very good job of it, because the looming threat of Quallo having a slight possibility–however unlikely–of killing Sandor was not something she could ignore however gruesome it was, or how desperate it made her feel.

  An hour before sunrise, Sansa, Frema and Vintos left the inn and once again headed towards the Hall of Punishment and the Plaza of the Just, Sansa mounted on Stranger and Frema in Nan as Vintos walked before the girls and the horses. _It is almost as if yesterday was repeating itself_ , Sansa thought. She had worn the only woolen gown she had left, after she took a quick bath and made herself beautiful for her champion. Her hair was hanging loose in long auburn curls this time, but her heart was shaking within her just like it had the previous morning. When they reached Burnek’s house, they opened the forge with the keys and tied up Nan and Stranger inside. Sansa’s mare was more willing to remain hidden in the dark than Stranger, so Sansa was compelled to whisper soothing words to the warhorse until she was certain he would not start another fight. “I’ll bring him back,” she told the destrier as she left him and Nan in the blacksmith’s house.

  Arriving at the Plaza of the Just after making their way through deserted streets under a rising bright Norvoshi sun, Sansa and her friends made their way to the raised marble dais and sat down in the same place as before. The magisters were seated in front of her, but for Arman, Quallo, Umeren and Intak. Some of the magisters acknowledged her with a nod or a smile, but others looked at her with anger. She returned the nods with nods, the smiles with smiles, and the angry looks with defiant ones.

  Just as Sansa and her little party arrived, several guards belonging to the Bearded Priests were finishing clearing and surrounding an ample space in the middle of the packed Plaza of the Just, where Sandor would face his opponent. This gesture by the guards was driving the already numerous crowd up to the roofs of the houses surrounding the square, as well as hanging from the statues that served as decorations all around, while others elbowed their way up the steps of nearby towers. They watched from doors, from windows and bridges, from balconies and roofs. Some had dragged out chairs to watch more comfortably, while others perched on barrels

  _I know where they’ll expect me to see the fight from_ , Sansa thought with a groan, nervously toying with the skirt of her gown. _I am going to have to see the fight from up here_. Frema and Vintos tried to distract her with small talk while they waited for Arman to arrive, so that the combat could begin and she could see Sandor once again.

  At long last Magister Nervere arrived, accompanied by his horrible red priest. Sansa saw that Quallo was wearing ornate armor over his orange robes, confirming her suspicions that he would be the one who would face Sandor. Quallo’s writhing flames tattooed on his face were a terrible thing to behold. From the back of the dais, Magisters Umeren and Magister Intak appeared as well. The ordeal was about to begin.

  Magister Intak step forward to the front of the dais and raised his hands. “Once again, we all gather here in the Plaza of the Just, people of Norvos. As you all witnessed, the man accused of attacking the High Magister demanded his right to an ordeal by combat yesterday, and we as magisters are bound to serve our laws, and thus agreed to it. Therefore, we shall not delay this matter anymore. Guards, bring the prisoner to the dais.”

  Sansa was trying to hide her trembling at the sight of Sandor being flanked by a dozen guards up to the dais. _At least now his hands are not_ _bound_ , she noticed as she stood up eagerly, registering that despite him not having a sword on him yet, he was at least now back in his old plain armor. When their eyes met, Sandor once again winked at her and gave her a little nod in acknowledgment, and Sansa’s heart beat faster as she smiled at him and returned his nod. When the guards left Sandor in the middle of the dais, she noticed for the first time the big bald man that was standing at his side. _That’s Burnek the blacksmith_ , she remembered. Both men were of the same height and built, and were staring at Arman and Quallo intensely.

  “Ah, Edric Goodbrook,” old Magister Umeren exclaimed, stepping forward to him. “Nice to see you again. And who is this fellow beside you? Is he the man who is going to be assisting you or your champion?”

  “I’ll champion myself,” Sandor rasped. “This man is a blacksmith, so he has fair knowledge of arms and fights and will assist me today. They have not told me who will I be killing today, Magister. Will it be the bloody High Sheep or his red pet?”

  Magister Umeren chuckled, and the magisters started whispering their disapproval at Sandor’s rude remarks. “You are quite confident in your skills with a sword, I see. Well, I gather that’s wiser than showing your fear. As to your question, it is not yet known who will champion Magister Nervere, I am afraid. I think that maybe–”

  “I will be fighting the accused,” Quallo, the red priest, answered solemnly. Sansa gulped, and wondered how good with a sword the red priest could really be, as she tried to discern the expression in Sandor’s burned features. _Sansa, you have to calm down_. 

  “Very well,” Magister Umeren said, taking in Quallo’s appearance with a disdainful look. “I suppose that since you are a Fiery Hand, as a sacred soldier to your red god, it is allowed for you to champion Magister Nervere if that is his wish.”

  “No,” said a clear strong voice. “I will fight Edric Goodbrook myself.”

  Sansa’s eyes along with a hundred more turned to look at the man who had spoken. It was Arman Nervere. Sansa gasped just as Sandor threw back his head and laughed. “The cockless little sheep trying to prove he has balls. It’s bloody good for me.”

  “But, High Magister,” Quallo exclaimed, appalled as the people in the mob closer to the dais began to laugh. “We had agreed that I–”

  “Quallo, please, step aside,” Arman replied, calmly. His blue eyes were gazing at Sandor with a determined look in them that made Sansa uneasy despite Sandor’s confidence. “ _I_ will be the city’s champion today. Norvos entrusted its care to me, and I will not shy away from it now. I shall step momentarily away from my position as High Magister so that I can put an end to this mockery of a man, whose presence has disturbed the fine way of life Great Norvos had been ruled by until now. Quallo will be the man to assist me. I left my armor at my palanquin, Quallo. If you would be so good as to fetch it for me, I would highly appreciate it, my friend.”

  Quallo looked furious, Sansa noticed, but nodded in reluctance, and went away in search of Arman’s armor as all the magisters began to talk at this new turn of events.

  “But, Magister Nervere,” Magister Intak interrupted. “What if–what if you–?”

  “I will not lose, Intak,” Arman interrupted, with confidence.

  “Still, if you choose to fight, who will be the High Magister in the meantime?”

  “I believe that will be Magister Umeren,” replied a magister with a big belly and hair redder than Sansa’s, standing up. “He is the leader of the Council after all.”

  Sansa’s mind was racing. If Arman were to kill Sandor, it would be the worst thing to happen. _No, no, no. Arman may be skilled in swordsmanship, but he is not a warrior by instinct the way Sandor is._ Sansa would never have thought that the day she’d be glad for Sandor being such a skilled killer would ever come, but this was what she was thankful for now with all her heart.

  The magisters stopped talking on hearing who would now rule them, however momentarily. Sandor was still sneering at Arman, whose expression was unreadable.

  “I shall accept the position of High Magister for as long as it is required of me,” Magister Umeren finally replied. “Fellow magisters and people of Norvos, I think it’s time for this ordeal by combat to begin. Magister Nervere, Edric Goodbrook, if you would be so kind as to follow me to the square below.”

  The old man started walking down the stairs that led from the front of the dais to the square, escorted by twenty guards who had but previously been meant to protect Arman as High Magister. Magister Intak signaled for Quallo and Burnek to follow him, and the three men made their way to the square as well. Five guards were assisting the red priest in carrying Arman’s armor, Sansa briefly saw before they disappeared down the dais. Frema and Vintos remained silent, as well as the other magisters, intent on watching along with the crowd the procession that was making its way through to the cleared space in the middle of the square. But Sansa was paying that no mind at all. Her Tully blue eyes were fixed on Sandor and Arman, who were staring at each other with looks of pure raw hate. _I’ve only seen Sandor look like that when he talks of his brother_. She hoped that was a good sign.

  Arman Nervere was the first to break the stare. He turned around and walked away from Sandor without a word, and began to make his way towards Sansa in long strides. Sansa caught one last glance of Sandor narrowing his eyes at Arman’s back as his mouth began to twitch, before that handsome face was before her. He looked down at her with a soft look in his startling blue eyes that Sansa had never seen before. “I’ll fight hard for you, my lady.”

  “I am not your lady,” she told him as he went to one knee. “I never was and I never will.”

  His eyes briefly set on her lips before they met hers again, and he whispered, “I truly do love you, Alys.”

  And with that he stood up and left her there, after nodding at her in respect. Sansa blinked, and spared his retreating back a look before she met Sandor’s stare again and whispered, “You cannot love me. You don’t know what love is.”

  Sandor was now staring at her as he strode towards her. Sansa bit her lip as he stopped before her. Two tall guards appeared beside him in the blink of an eye, telling him that he could not have contact with Lady Mallister.

  Sandor didn’t pay them any mind, but neither was he foolish enough to try and touch her now, nor was Sansa. So instead she said in a trembling meaningful voice, “Be safe, big man.”

  Sandor grinned at her. “Always, little bird.”

  He suddenly took out from his right vambrace the handkerchief she’d given him yesterday. At the sight of that, she unconsciously stepped closer to him forgetting she was not allowed to do so. One of the guards gently blocked her way, saying, “No closer, Lady Mallister.”

  Sansa looked up at the guard with pleading wide eyes. “ _Please_.”

  The guard first looked at his feet, and then gave a short nod and stepped slightly aside. Sansa quickly took hold of her handkerchief and tucked it beneath Sandor’s breastplate, near his heart. Sandor brought his steel clad hand to caress hers for a moment before the guards separated them. He winked at her again, and followed the procession down to the square. Sansa covered her mouth with her hand, trying hard to stop the tears from coming. Frema and Vintos stood up and laid a hand on each of her shoulders, assuring her that everything was going to be all right just as a deep set of trumpets started.

 

***

 

  Sandor was the last to arrive at the middle of the square, and thankfully those buggering trumpets stopped by then. He looked around him, registering his surroundings, from the dirt covered ground to how bright the sun was, before he made his way to where Burnek, Magister Umeren, Intak, the sodding red priest and fucking Nervere were already assembled on top of a newly erected wooden platform. _Fuck me, but it’s hot_. He could feel sweat already running underneath his armor and mail.

  When he reached the men, he spat and rasped, “What are we waiting for? Let’s bloody get on with it.”

  Magister Umeren chuckled as Burnek handed Sandor his sword. Sandor was starting to warm up to the old man. _He and Burnek are the only ones here that want me to win_. He was certain of it. Why else would the old fool have gone through so much trouble to stress that an ordeal by combat as an old law was acceptable, and thus could be granted?

  “Soon enough, soon enough, Edric. First, there are some procedures to be minded.” Umeren turned to face the cheering crowd and signaled for them to be quiet. It took a time, and when the commoners finally shut up, Umeren continued. “Norvos, the combat is about to start. I call for the leader of the Bearded Priests, the most noble and exceptional Ouszo, to step forward so that he can take Magister Nervere’s and Edric Goodbrook’s oaths.”

  Sandor watched amused as a man with a long grey beard and fatter than the previous High Septon wobbled his way up the wooden platform, with the help of four skinny servants. His eyes returned to gaze at Arman, who was whispering with that red priest urgently as he handed him a fancy looking sword. _If I could only strangle that little shit with his own guts, I’d be happy_. Sandor turned to look at Burnek and grinned, remembering how he’d laughed when they told him he was going to be the man who would be assisting him today. He shifted his heavy weight from one leg to the other, growing bored.

  Finally, Ouszo the fat began. “Faithful people of Norvos, you are all witnesses to what will happen here today. The outcome will be the will of the gods, and that is why I ask now for the men about to fight to come forward to take the oaths, and hand their swords to the men who will assist them.”

  Sandor and Arman stepped on each side of the fat priest, staring at each other defiantly. Handing his new sword to Burnek, standing beside him, as the sheep gave his own sword to Quallo’s care, Sandor gave Nervere a sneer he knew irked the man no matter how much he tried to hide it.

  “Now, please, take each other by the wrist as the true men that you are,” the priest intoned. Sandor had to grab Arman’s right wrist while the fucker grabbed his thick wrist as well.

  “By the oath that you take this day,” Ouzso of the Bearded Priests intoned, “I exhort and admonish you, Edric of the House Goodbrook, and you, Arman of the Clan Nervere, to use these swords to the upholding of justice and the defense of innocence. Fairly you will combat to defend the contrary of what the other has advanced, and abstain from trickery and dishonesty, and with your strength justly prove on which side the lie rests, and the gods will ensure the truth’s victory to the clearance of the victor’s name. If you perform and keep this oath, to your honor it will be; but if you break it, may great dishonor befall you and your name with ignominy be covered for years to come. Be the gods your witnesses in this.”

  “May the Lord of Light defend me; and light your flames around me, R’hllor, for the night is dark and full of terrors,” Arman whispered. He and Sandor dropped their tight hold on the other, and Ouzso turned his back on them.

  Sandor was sick of hearing about this fire god. He leaned over to Arman before the idiot went away and said, “I do not believe in any gods, but if swearing finally allows me the pleasure to cut you in two, then I bloody swear to do so by the Maiden.”

  He was thinking of Sansa as he said that, and knew by Arman’s unsmiling stare that he understood whom he’d meant. Looking down on him, Sandor grinned, knowing that the effect this had on his face was not pretty, for his burns stretched tight. Arman’s blue eyes flickered to them, and he said in the Common Tongue, “I do not want to cause Alys pain, but I cannot help myself in this. Expect no mercy from me. This is my last chance to get rid of you, and I will take it.”

  Sandor snorted, not willing to give in to Arman’s taunt. “You don’t want to cause her pain by attempting to kill me, but you were ready enough to cause her pain by forcing her to marry you, remember, you fucking liar? Seven hells, at least I don’t lie about who I am. But you–you lied to her, and to the people you were meant to rule and to yourself most of all, you sodding fool. You’re free to try and kill me and see what little good it’ll do you.”

  “Very well,” Arman said, and turning to address Magister Umeren, Intak and the priest Ouzso, he said, “The combat is to the death. There will be no yielding, and it will not end at first blood.”

  Intak and Ouzso exchanged nervous looks, but old Umeren nodded solemnly and said, “Agreed.”

  Fat Ouzso gave a ponderous cough and exclaimed resignedly, “Now that both champions have sworn to treat this as a matter of honor, let everyone here be warned that if they try to interfere once the combat has begun, they shall suffer the penalty of death…” 

  _Yes, yes, we know how it goes. Shut up now so that I can finally stick my sword through the sheep’s entrails_ , Sandor was thinking when Ouzso finally stepped back, and Magister Umeren and Intak took the priest’s place.

  “Champions, go attend your weapons and be ready to start upon my signal,” Intak told them.”

  Without another word, Sandor turned around and jerked his head at Burnek to follow him down the wooden platform. He was raging inside as he started to remember what Nervere had tried to do to Sansa in the hopes of marrying her, but the idiot had thankfully underestimated the little bird. _She showed us all the wolf she has inside of her_. It made him feel so fucking proud that she’d stepped up to the magisters and the crowd yesterday, and had even managed to fuck up Arman’s plans. _But she also did it for me_ , he remembered, and that made his heart feel strange. No one had ever done anything for him like that. Trying hard not to wonder if Sansa would be willing to do the same once they stood before her family, Sandor headed towards the left side of the cleared space where two young guards awaited him and Burnek beside a table. Sandor’s scabbard and swordbelt and a heavy oaken shield with a raw hide were awaiting him there, as well as skins of water. _Fuck the water, what I need is wine,_ he thought, but did not say it out loud. _At least Burnek chose a good shield and sword for me._ He should be grateful for that much at least. The tall blacksmith handed him his new sword silently.

  “Take care of them,” he told Burnek, jerking his head at the nameday gifts the little bird had given him. He began admiring the fine work that his new longsword was, and started testing it slicing at the morning air. His eyes fell on the tall distant figure of Sansa up on the raised dais.

 From this distance, he could only discern her green dress and mass of auburn hair, but he only had to close his eyes to remember her beautiful face in detail; the smooth way her porcelain white skin always felt like under his touch, or the exact color of her eyes, or the way her plump lips had kissed his scarred ones with passion and eagerness. She was more than enough cause for any man to die for, but seven hells, not that they really stood a chance together, he was thrice damned if he was going to allow death to claim him away from her embrace.

  “Champions, are you ready?” Magister Intak asked, coughing as the crowd went wild. “Begin!”

  Sandor started striding towards the middle of the ring, ready, sword and oak shield in hand, staring at Arman, who was walking his way as well. All of a sudden, Nervere drew the edge of the sword Quallo had given him across his length of his left palm in one quick movement, and in the blink of an eye, the sword took fire.

  Sandor’s breath caught in his throat the moment his heart stopped beating. He rasped in revulsion, “Seven bloody buggering hells!” and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Arman ready to fight him with a fucking flaming longsword. He was suddenly afraid, for death had never scared Sandor Clegane, but fire did. A woman screamed far away, and Sandor knew that he must probably look white as milk as he faced the nightmare that was before him.

  He didn’t even hear the people of Norvos exclaiming in awe or distaste at this demonstration of the power of a foreign demon god. So intent was he in staring at the man coming at him with fire in his hands. Sandor nonetheless raised his sword in front of him, knowing that there was no going back now, remembering the smell his skin had made as Gregor pushed his face into the burning coals.

  “STOP!” a commanding voice exclaimed. Nervere had been about to charge Sandor, but at the sound he slashed at thin air, and the flames in the blade hissed in protest.

  “What now?” Arman and Quallo asked angrily. Sandor looked briefly at the bloody red priest and saw the eagerness in his eyes as he contemplated the flaming sword. It made him feel sick, and he could feel his mouth beginning to twitch.

  Sandor turned to look up at the wooden platform to see that Umeren, Intak and the Bearded Priest were all arguing together, while they pointed furious fingers at Arman. Old Umeren shook his head and finally stepped forward, an angry scowl in his face. Sandor didn’t think it possible for that old man to look so infuriated, but now he did.

  “Arman, what do you think you are doing?” he roared at Nervere. “Using that–that _thing_ is cheating. Have you lost your reason? Using fire is against the rules. You cannot use that weapon.”

  Arman looked hard at the old man, a smile twisting his face as he replied, “Why are you interrupting the combat, High Magister? I was never told that it could not be used! If I wish to–”

  “I remind you that you do not wear a crown, Arman,” Magister Umeren said with a stern gaze. “You are not allowed to use a flaming sword just because it is your wish. Least of all now that you’ve stepped down momentarily from the position of High Magister.”

  Quallo suddenly stepped forward and said, “But, Magister Umeren, Arman Nervere is a follower of the Lord of Light, it is only right that he be allowed to use whatever weapon R’hllor bestows upon him.”

  Umeren closed his eyes as if asking for patience, and turned a stony look at the red priest. “You have no voice or authority here,” he said with ill-concealed disgust. “I suggest to you to follow Goodbrook’s assistant’s lead and step away from the ring quietly. Do not interfere again.”

  Quallo looked angrily at the old man. “R’hllor has authority everywhere, old man. You should realize that before the end.”

  Arman gave his red pet a look that made the latter go reluctantly back to the right side of the ring, to stand beside the wooden table.

  “Magister Arman,” Umeren said, in an icy tone that had lost all the warmth in the voice he’d shown to the world till now. “You swore by the gods of Norvos that you would behave according to what was established in the vows you took. I will not have the laws violated and the gods dishonored. It’s sacrilegious to use these sorts of tricks that will only give you advantage over Goodbrook. Cowards fight with fire. If that is what the Red God teaches his followers, then I pity you more than I did yesterday. I may not be familiar with your god, but the gods that have looked down upon Great Norvos for centuries hate tricksters. You claimed moments ago up on the dais that Edric Goodbrook was a threat to the stability of this city. But what we all just saw was that the real threat to Norvos lies on the other side of the ring. I order you now as the High Magister to surrender your flaming sword for normal steel.”

  When those last words were proclaimed, Sandor finally allowed himself to breathe in relief. Fuck, but he was one lucky bastard, was all he had time to think as he cast a quick look at Sansa’s figure, before seeing that Arman was now angrily stepping away from the middle of the ring. Sandor sneered at him as he saw how, thrusting the flaming sword to the ground, he grabbed a regular longsword. _It’ll be made of the best steel, but the arms that wield it will not be as strong as_ _mine_.

  Spitting, he quickly rearranged his right gauntlet and flexed his hands before Arman turned around and once again started coming towards him, now with a regular sword and an elaborate shield on his hands. Sandor was ready. If he did this right, this bloody Norvoshi nightmare would finally end. He stood in first position with his sword raised high in front of him, and when Arman was ten steps before him, he saw that Nervere looked confident despite having been forbidden to use his bloody toy, yet Sandor knew he would soon see fear in those blue eyes.

 Arman started advancing quickly, moving from side to side, measuring his surroundings like a cat ready to pounce at any moment, until finally, with a shout, he came towards Sandor, sword ready to catch him at the gap in his armpit where his plate joined, but Sandor blocked the blow swiftly, and turned it. For a moment, he thought the sheep would charge at him again, but instead he pivoted away from him, looking around for a way to aim at his sides now, weighing his chances.

  _Buggering idiot_ , Sandor thought. Arman started pressing hard and pushing cuts on him, making the square ring to the clangor of steel on steel as they parried against one another. With a twist of his wrist, Sandor threw his opponent’s sword aside and thrust then at Nervere’s shield with his whole weight behind him, trying to make the magister drop his protection as he allowed the man more ground as he stepped back a few paces. He wanted to test Nervere’s style first. Arman thrust at him after he managed to keep a good hold of his shield, trying to aim at Sandor’s upper left arm, but Sandor knew it was coming and he blocked it away again. _Yes, the fucker does fight like Jaime Lannister. Eager to prove how good he is._

With a quick look in Sansa’s direction, Arman gave another shout as he swiveled towards Sandor, and they started hammering at each other again, swords whirling and slashing at whatever unprotected place they could reach. They were close enough to strike at each other, and that was exactly what they did, hacking at belly, upper arms, shoulders, thighs, but none of the blows were really penetrating across their plate. Only dents would make an appearance from time to time. At one point, Sandor thrust a blow that would have opened Arman from neck to navel if the magister had stood to receive it, but which only managed to cut a slice in his forearm. And then at another point, Sandor knew by the way Nervere was standing where the next swing of his sword was likely to hit him-above the knee- so he moved aside lighting quick to avoid it.

  He sometimes caught sight of the people around them, but they were too brief to be more than blurring shapes, and the sound of their screaming could not be heard inside Sandor’s head. So intent was he on finishing off Arman fucking Nervere once and for all.

  It went on that way for a time, with a startled Arman keeping his sword in front of him, making it a danger for Sandor to come near him as he recovered from his brush with death.

  Sandor started laughing and teased Arman further for his reaction by asking him, “Say, did you perchance happen to train with the master-at-arms of Casterly Rock?”

  When Arman didn’t answer him but instead grabbed his longsword with both hands, Sandor shoved his own shield away and continued, “Because I have to admit that you fight like the Kingslayer, but at least Lannister knew how to play cat and mouse fiercely. But you–you’re boring me, little shit.”

  Arman was quick to get angry at that, and started driving into Sandor with shield and sword in a heartbeat, but this time Sandor stood his ground.

**“Not only that, Lannister's face is almost prettier than yours… almost,” he went on, grinning wide at his rival, “It’s a pity you have no sister, then perhaps you would not be so keen on marrying the little bi–”**

  Nervere raised his sword with a scream, aiming at his head, and _almost_ managed to slice a cut in his burned cheek. 

  “Fuck,” Sandor cursed out loud, jerking backwards before spurning away in a heartbeat, swiveling out of Nervere’s flashing sword reach with a roar. He covered himself with his shield and charged at Arman until the man managed to stand his ground and even push him backwards. Sandor raised his shield out of instinct before Nervere’s sword was on him eagerly, hacking furiously at the wooden shield twice aiming with all his strength at this chance of killing him instantly.

  Sandor’s shoulder length hair was plastered to his brow in a sheen of sweat, obscuring his vision momentarily. With a vicious undercut with the edge of his shield at his opponent’s face, Nervere finally staggered away from Sandor, allowing him to gain his breath and push the hair from his face. But it was a moment too much, for the next thing Sandor knew, Nervere was bringing his sword down with both hands, and had managed to catch Sandor in the elbow of his shield arm. The metal that protected the joint crunched. Sandor grunted loudly at the sharp feel of pain and winced; he turned, wrenching his weapon up as the wetness inside his elbow increased.

  Shoving his heavy shield aside with labored breath, Sandor heard Nervere give a triumphant laugh, “Are there any last words you would like me to tell Alys for you?”

  Sandor returned the thrust with a flashing movement, even as a bright finger of blood ran along his forearm. Arman tried to spin away, but Sandor was fast and didn’t allow him the chance to do so. His next cut managed to pierce through the joint of Nervere’s pauldron, and the man staggered to his knees at the blow. He gave the no-longer-High Sheep time enough to recover, but once Arman was up again, Sandor was on him again quickly. He slashed at Arman in a wild fury, forbidding death to claim him in this fight. _I am not done living yet_ , he thought as he gained ground. _The little bird is waiting for_ _me_.

  And so when the fucker raised both of his arms upwards in an attempt to bring down his full force on his next struck, Sandor saw the unprotected space on the man’s waist, and didn’t hesitate to take this opportunity. Aiming at it, he managed to draw blood with the fierce thrust of his longsword. Arman grunted painfully with a dazed look on his face, and then winced and staggered at the impact of Sandor bringing his shoulder to him, sending him crashing down to the dirt covered ground as he let his sword slip from his grasp.

  Afraid, the sheep scrambled to his side and tried to reach for his weapon, but the sight of his outstretched arm was too much a temptation. Sandor raised his own sword in both hands and brought it down to slash Arman’s arm in half. The scream Nervere made was a sound that Sandor had heard a thousand times before, but it no longer chilled his blood the way his first killing at the age of twelve had. After all, wasn’t he a butcher? Arman Nervere was the meat and it was time to finish this pitiful bleating animal once and for all.

  Arman managed to crawl away from Sandor far enough to kneel on the ground and cradle the remains of his arm. Sandor’s insides began to twist in knots. He did not enjoy torturing men, and the sight of Arman now was too much even for him. Walking over to the man who had been High Magister and reaching him in four long strides, Sandor Clegane opened Nervere from shoulder to breastbone in the final killing blow that had all of his massive weight behind its crashing arc, and which managed to cut through plate. The blur of his steel trailed a red mist across his armor as he wrenched his sword away, while blood sprang from Arman’s mouth in bubbles even as he shuddered as his life’s blood left him, and he finally fell on his side to lay still on the dirt.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you thank you so much to everyone who reads and reviews! You’re amazing and the reason why I write this :D


	26. Farewells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)   
> *The betas to whom I owe so much are: onborrowedwings, nysandra & swiftsnowmane!! :D Thank you girls!!   
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

  The crowd didn’t cheer for him. Nervere’s death was greeted with stunned silence. No one moved or said anything. A thousand eyes looked on, shifting between the body of the man on the ground and the champion. Sandor couldn’t have cared less about what they all thought of him. The noble sheep had it coming to him for some time now, and no one could complain that he’d killed Arman unfairly _. Which is more than what they could’ve said of him had I lost. Fucking tricks_. 

  Sandor had won, and now he was free to finally do as he pleased and go away from this bloody city. Where to, he didn’t know yet, but at least now he and Sansa were going to be together again. Seven hells, how he missed having his little bird in his arms.

  He lifted his gaze from Arman Nervere’s body, and stepped away as he saw the pool of blood surrounding the corpse growing wider and wider, creeping up towards his feet. He turned around to face the marble raised dais where his little bird was watching all of this, waiting with Frema and Vintos at her side.

   The throbbing pain of his elbow was bothering him, but not so much that he didn’t know or remember what had to happen next. Just as he was about to head over to the raised wooden platform where High Magister Umeren and the other officials were, suddenly, a loud, angry, hateful cry cracked the stillness of the air. Quickly looking behind him, he saw that Quallo, the damnable red priest, was running towards him in a mad state of grief with that fucking flaming sword.

  Sandor once again stood still, unable to move from the spot, as he saw how the flames danced across the length of the blade, shifting constantly. The crowd began to stir all around him, but his eyes were fixed on the tattooed face of the man who wanted to kill him and avenge his master.

  It was only some heartbeats what would take Quallo to run across the ring and meet him, but to Sandor it was like a bloody lifetime. The look of twisted seething anger in Quallo’s eyes made him remember with detail the way Gregor’s hard eyes always looked when someone had done something to displease him–which was laughable, for the small red priest looked nothing like his brother. _Fuck_ , was his last coherent thought before he raised his longsword and shifted his body around, ready to meet Nervere’s red pet.

  “Stop him!” someone yelled far away. Sandor barely managed to register hearing that instruction before he saw a dagger, quick as lightning, appear in his vision’s range. The dagger struck Quallo on his left shoulder. The red man winced in pain and distractedly turned around to see what had hit him, dropping the flaming weapon.

  Sandor saw that three guards belonging to the Bearded Priests were upon Quallo, restraining him from picking up the flaming sword now burning on the ground. One of the guards pushed it quickly away with his foot, and they all looked up at the raised wooden platform, awaiting their next command. A young servant ran into the ring with a flagon in his hands and poured water onto the flaming sword; it hissed and returned to normal steel.

  High Magister Umeren stepped forward, while Intak and the fat Bearded Priest Ouzso looked startled by this turn of events. The old magister was looking with anger at the red priest, who was struggling to get free, and he asked in a voice that dripped disgust, “What right do you think you have to try and attack the victor of this ordeal?”

  Quallo answered unashamed, his eyes flashing as brightly as the flames he loved so much, “I have the right to kill that beast for butchering a brave warrior of R’hllor. You all saw how he–”

  “We all regret the outcome of this affair,” Umeren interrupted. “I knew Magister Nervere since he was born, and we all thought he would grow up to be a promising ruler. But he ran afoul with you and your kind, and you corrupted him. We are all sorry for Arman Nervere’s demise, but this is not unexpected. Magister Nervere said the ordeal by combat was to be to the death, and there are a thousand witnesses in this square to back up the fact that Edric Goodbrook fought honorably–yourself included, if only you weren’t blinded by stubbornness… Those who follow your Lord of Light know nothing of respect or–”

  “Do not speak of what you do not know, foolish old man,” Sandor heard Quallo shout in a venomous tone, staring at the High Magister with disdain. “The night is dark and full of terrors. If you were as wise as Magister Nervere was, you would know that the Lord of Light is the only one who can save us all. Perhaps then you would not deny him so quickly, or impede me from disposing of this brute!”

  _Fucking little idiot, you’re only wrapping the rope around your throat tighter with every sodding word you say_ , Sandor thought as his heart slowed down. There were no more threats. He wouldn’t have to fight with fire threatening to burn him at every moment and movement. _I guess that if the bugger wants to condemn himself with his own tongue, he can be my fucking guest_.

  Umeren looked annoyed as he waited for the mad red priest to finish; he entwined his hands before him and replied, “The matter at hand is not who will save the world, but that you violated our sacred laws–”

  “I swore no oath to your false gods.”

  “But Magister Nervere _did_ , and as his assistant in the combat, you ought to have known that you were bound by the same oath as he was,” the fat Bearded Priest pointed out loudly, clearly affronted.

  Magister Umeren nodded in agreement. “The laws must be respected and our traditions and values upheld, and you pose a threat, not only to Edric Goodbrook but to us all. That is why, as High Magister of the city of Great Norvos, charged with protecting the welfare of its people, I sentence you to death. Guards, prepare the prisoner. I know that it would probably be his wish to be burned alive, but we will not spare this affair another moment. He is to be beheaded at once. Honorable Ouzso, if your highest ranking guard could do the deed, the Council would be most grateful. And, please, send for the Sacred Mothers to take away Arman Nervere’s body. No matter what he was or did in his life, the body of a son of the Clan Nervere has to be treated with respect.”

  It wasn’t until Umeren began to speak of honoring Nervere’s memory that Sandor heard for the first time the voice of the High Magister breaking, but it was barely noticeable, because before he was even done the loud cheer of the crowd drowned all other noises.

  Apparently, the body of Arman, now attracting flies to it, was too much for Umeren, for he turned around and wiped a tear from his small eyes, as the guards started leading Quallo to a corner of the ring, to wait for the executioner. Now that his fate was decided, the man’s tattooed face had turned hard and solemn, and he seemed to accept his fate without further struggle. _Which is the wisest thing he’s done all day, the sick fuck_ , Sandor gathered with an angry scowl.

  With a deep sigh, Magister Umeren spared a last look at the now condemned red priest, who was starting to mutter a prayer under his breath, and then his old wrinkled eyes fell on Sandor. He waved him forward, and Sandor didn’t waste a moment more. _The sooner we do this, the sooner I can finally get away from here before another man tries to kill me_.

  He strode over to the raised wooden platform and walked up to the place where Magister Intak, the fat chief of the Bearded Priests, and the High Magister awaited him. Ouzso the Priest was toying with the ends of his long grey beard, and Intak covered his mouth with a silk handkerchief, clearly upset with the way his sheep of a friend had been killed.

  The sight of the handkerchief made Sandor remember the favor the little bird had given him earlier, and that was still tucked away beneath his breastplate, near his bloody heart. Smirking, he took it out and would’ve kissed it had he not reached Magister Umeren in that moment. Instead, he settled with holding it in a tight grip.

  Sandor nodded down at the man in respect; the High Magister regarded him silently for what seemed like a long time. He finally returned the nod with a grim smile, and sighed. He turned to face the people of Norvos gathered together in the Plaza of the Just, and raised his arms, appealing them for silence.

  When the loud clamor died away into low murmurs, Umeren said in a strong loud voice, “As we have all seen, the gods saw fit to pardon Edric Goodbrook. They found innocence and good in him, and thus by winning the ordeal by combat, he has atoned for whatever wrongs he may have committed previously and for which he was condemned. As High Magister, it falls upon me to grant him my pardon, and to let the world know that he has been forgiven for threatening Magister Nervere. The Council of Magisters protects him, and woe to anyone who wishes to take this settled matter into his own hands, and try and seek revenge where there is none to be found.”

  As Umeren spoke, Sandor kept his gaze fixed on the distant figure of Sansa, while his fingers kept caressing the fabric of her handkerchief, assuring himself that this was real and he was now going to leave this damnable place at last.

  When High Magister Umeren was done talking, he turned around to face Sandor and told him quietly, “You have proved that Lady Mallister has the fiercest protector, and men will think twice before they dare come close to her again. Still, though you have been forgiven by the council and the city, Edric, I trust that you know it would not be wise for you or your lady to return to Norvos ever again. You won by the will of the gods, and thus cannot be exiled from here, but I think it best not to provoke any unnecessary risks by showing your presence, lad. It would be best to disappear.”

  Sandor saw the wisdom in this advice, and nodded. He didn’t really like to do this sort of thing, but he was thrice damned if he wasn’t about to say this to the old magister after he’d won his respect. So he rasped, “I–I’m sorry for saying that you looked close to dying at the ball, Magister. By the way you conducted this trial, I can see that your wits are far from leaving you. This city needs someone like you watching over it.”

  Magister Umeren chuckled. “Thank you, Edric. I appreciate that. I know that Arman didn’t rule Norvos as wisely as he could have. I cared for his father very much, and was always proud of Arman as he was growing up. He was a good boy, then, and had a promising future before him.”

  “Until he ran into that bloody red god,” Sandor spat, with ill-concealed displeasure. He had witnessed how much it pained Umeren to see how Nervere had reached his end, so he restrained himself from calling him a fucker. 

  “Aye, until he became a believer of R’hllor, and got it into his handsome thick head that this city could do better if it was delivered into the fanaticism of the Lord of Light,” Umeren agreed. He shook his head, dismissing this troublesome and sad matter, “But that’s over now. You are free to go. Go back to Lady Alysanne and take her far away. She does not belong here, but I think that as long as she is with you, she’ll be safe.”

  Sandor grinned, for he couldn’t have agreed more with the old High Magister. He nodded respectfully at the man and turned away from him, still clutching Sansa’s handkerchief. He stepped down from the wooden platform as he heard Umeren instructing the guards to prepare Quallo for beheading. Sandor reached Burnek, who gave him a hard pat on the back, and Sandor snorted.

  “You look too relieved,” he told the bald blacksmith. “Did you have any doubts about me winning?”

  Burnek laughed. “None at all, Edric. None at all. I’m glad everything turned out for the good for you. But I know someone who will be ten times happier for this outcome, and whom we should hurry up to meet with now.”

  Sandor caressed the length of the scabbard the little bird had given him, and nodded in agreement. He put on his swordbelt and scabbard, and put away his new sword. His eyes fell on the kneeling figure of Quallo as the guards placed his head on the block, while the chief guard of the Bearded Priest stepped forward into the ring with a sharp looking light axe on his hands.

  If Sandor had been like Gregor, he would have told that guard to fuck off and asked Umeren to let him behead Quallo himself. But Sandor was not his brother; he had no intention of remaining here another moment to see the red priest’s head flying across the air, and rolling in the dirt. His job here was done. He jerked his head at Burnek to follow him, and the two left the ring, while the crowd of Norvoshi around them pointed and stared at them indiscreetly, yet they parted a way for them to walk through. Sandor made his way towards the raised dais and he never looked back; not even when he heard the deathly swift hissing of the axe claiming Quallo’s life, or the intake of breath by the crowd.

  When he had crossed the square and reached the bottom of the dais, he noticed that neither the little bird nor Frema or Vintos were anywhere to be seen. _She was just here_ , Sandor thought, gazing quickly all around him. His towering height gave him an advantage in such a situation, but there was no sign of Sansa.

  “What the–?” he began, before Burnek stepped up beside him and laid a hand on his arm.

  “Vintos thought it best for you two to meet at my house,” the blacksmith told him. “Neither of us thought it wise that people should see that there is more to your relationship than that of a lady and her sworn shield. And since we suspected you two would not be able to contain yourselves once you met again…”

  Sandor didn’t need to hear more. He wished he could curse the man to seven hells along with Vintos for delaying his reunion with Sansa. Instead, he only grunted and gave a short nod before he was off to the streets of Norvos, striding as quickly as his long legs could carry him as he left behind forever the Plaza of the Just, and tucked Sansa’s handkerchief back inside his breastplate.

  Apparently his little bird was just as fucking eager to see him again as he was. He’d walked down three streets and stepped into an alley he knew was a shortcut to the blacksmith’s house, when he suddenly saw a quick flash of auburn hair and the next thing he knew Sansa had thrown her arms around him. He staggered backwards, startled by the impact. With a cry, Sandor returned his little bird’s embrace tightly, crushing her to him. Sansa clung fiercely to him, not minding that he smelled of death and was covered in blood as he lifted her from the floor.

  “Seven hells, I’ve missed you, little bird,” he grunted in the Common Tongue, burying his face in her hair, laughing warmly at her behavior. Sansa sniffed and nuzzled her face in his neck, and murmured in his ear, “Oh, gods, you’re _here_!” as if she could not really believe it yet. _This feels so fucking right_ , he thought as he looked up from the mesmerizing smell of her hair.

  He saw that Frema had tears in her eyes, and Vintos and Burnek were laughing and hugging each other in mirth. Sandor shook his head at them as Sansa brought her face up from his neck and shoulder to stare into his eyes, and the world seemed to stop moving. Her piercing blue eyes were looking deep into his soul, making him feel as if they had become the only people in the whole sodding world. Silent tears of joy started sliding down Sansa’s cheeks, and Sandor gently brushed them away with his thumbs.

  “I am so happy,” she confessed, and she brought her hands to rest on both sides of his face. “I don’t–I would’ve died had they taken you away from me.”

  His guts twisted in knots at that, and he started to notice the changes in her face. She was still the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, even if her face looked pale and fragile, but the deep shadows under her eyes told him that she had not slept in days. That angered him, for he knew it was because of him. _She must have worried sick about me_ , he thought, and he rasped, “Don’t say that, little bird. It’s all over and done now. We are together and that’s all that matters.”

  There would be time enough now that this sodding ordeal was over to ask for forgiveness and confess what they felt, but now was not the time. He smiled at her in reassurance, despite knowing that his burned skin would only twist and pull tightly across his face. Sansa nodded and returned his smile, and Sandor cursed in his mind. Not once had Sansa looked at him the way she was regarding him now, and it simply broke his heart–in a good way.

  Sandor longed to kiss her, but he wasn’t keen on having so much public watching them when he did. He tore his gaze away from Sansa’s perfect alluring mouth, and shot a murderous look at the couple and the blacksmith, but they only seemed to find his reaction amusing.

  At least Sansa wasn’t finding this funny. His little bird buried her face in his neck, and even started kissing him there, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. _She is less shy than I am when others are around._

  “Alys, Edric,” Vintos said urgently. “Please, we have to hurry. We are really, really very happy that you won, but the caravan left at midnight. It’s been almost two hours since dawn. The longer you stay here the longer it’ll take for you to find it.”

  _What?_ “What caravan?” he snarled, letting Sansa down onto the floor slowly. The motion must have put too much weight on his left arm, for suddenly the cut on his elbow throbbed painfully, and he winced in pain, remembering the injury Nervere had given him.

  “What is it?” Sansa asked, noticing his face, and touching his arm. “Did he hurt you? I couldn’t see very well what was happening from the dais.”

  “It’s nothing,” he told her, kissing the top of her head before the five of them began to make their way once again to Burnek’s house. “Just a cut on my left arm. Burnek will look at it in a moment. Now tell me, what’s this about a caravan?”

  Sansa looked like she was still keen on talking about his wound; Vintos answered him. As he told him about where they had planned for him and Sansa to run away to, Sandor began to search for any weaknesses in the plan, trying to find what could go wrong if they joined this caravan and traveled through the Hills of Norvos to the north. 

  From what he could remember, there were no cities to the north, only wilderness and he gathered some gods-forsaken towns, but maybe that was for the best. They needed to hide and disappear again, and in the end Sandor had to admit that it was better that they joined this caravan rather than go back to Pentos, or to the village where Frema and Vintos had been born.

  He wasn’t surprised that the couple wasn’t going to join them. Their lives were meant to be spent in these regions, and when Sandor caught sight of Sansa as Vintos admitted that they would be parting ways once they left Norvos, he saw that it pained her to leave her friends behind forever _._

_And we were supposed to join them for some time in their village_ , he remembered. _That can’t be helped anymore_. He was glad they had met them, for they had stayed with Sansa when he was imprisoned, but he didn’t _really_ care that they had to leave them. He only cared that Sansa was now safe from Nervere’s threats and they could be together. 

  They reached the blacksmith’s house just as Vintos finished telling him about their plan, and when Burnek opened the door to his forge to let them in, Sandor broke into laughter at the sight of Stranger and Nan tied inside. When the big black destrier saw him, he began to shake his head and grunt enthusiastically. Sandor strode over to his horse, and padded his forehead. Frema and Vintos picked up their provisions from a corner of the forge and put them on Nan’s back.

  “I promised him I would bring you back,” the little bird chirped proudly, stepping up beside him to caress Stranger as well.

  Sandor looked between his horse and Sansa with a raised eyebrow before he let his fingers brush gently across Sansa’s hand. “I’m glad to be back with you both.”

  Sansa smiled up at him. Burnek suddenly laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “Come. Let’s have a look at the cut in your elbow.”

  Sandor grunted, and turned around to follow the blacksmith out of the forge. He heard Sansa asking the married couple to wait for them, and then she followed the two tall men into the blacksmith’s house. She slipped her hand in his, and entered what was the modest living room of Burnek’s house.

  “Alys, could you bring some hot water and a cloth? The water is already heated. It’s in the kitchen.” the bald blacksmith asked Sansa. She nodded, and went to fetch the water and the cloth while Sandor took off the pieces of his armor covering up his cut. He was relieved to see that Nervere hadn’t managed to cut very deep into the skin, but it would still take some weeks to heal completely.

  “Gods be good,” Sansa gasped, coming up to stand beside Burnek as the man cleaned up the cut and bandaged it.

  “I’ve had worse, little bird,” he told her. They were speaking in the Common Tongue, but Burnek must have understood that Sandor was assuring her that she shouldn’t worry, for he said, in an attempt to distract her attention, “Thank you for the things, Alys. Help Edric clean the blood from his face and armor. We don’t want to attract the guards’ attention.”

  Sandor watched with both awe and amusement as Sansa did as she was told without flinching. _To think she couldn’t even look at me once_. And now she could clean another man’s blood from his armor, as if Burnek had asked her to cook some of her damnable lemon cakes.

  “Here, give it to me,” he told her, gesturing at the wet cloth. He didn’t like to think that she was cleaning Arman’s blood from him. _At least she didn’t get blood on herself, or we would have to wait for her to change and wash_.

  “You cannot move while Burnek is tending your arm,” she told him. “You can help once he is done. Now stay still.”

 

***

 

  This was one of these moments when Sansa didn’t know if she wanted to dance with joy, or stand still so she could adjust her mind to everything that had happened, but there was simply no time for any of that. The situation they were in demanded her to be practical, so she helped the blacksmith with Sandor, trying to quicken their departure.

  They could delay no more if they wanted to join the caravan before dusk. After she had cleaned the blood from Sandor’s armor, the latter stood up and went to quickly wash his face. When he came back, they joined Frema and Vintos in the forge after Sandor had asked Sansa to fetch him his traveler’s cloak. He donned it and pulled the hood so his face was obscured. Sansa had taken her own cloak as well, and though it was not very likely that a hood would be of great help while the sun of Norvos shone brightly up in the sky, she nonetheless thought it best to take precautions.

  “Did you pack enough water, food and warm clothing?” Sandor asked her, as his eyes fell on the horses’ saddles and the pair of bedrolls attached to them. He began to inspect how well attached the saddles were, quickly checking the horses’ hooves and the reins before he put his steel gauntlets into a bag in the saddle.

  “Yes, everything that I deemed necessary,” she assured him, counting off with her fingers the items and provisions she’d packed into the saddles. She was mentioning their smallclothes when Sandor suddenly lifted her chin with his hand, and remarked with an amused grin, “I’m very proud of you. You did better than I could’ve done when you faced the bunch of puffed up magisters. You’ve learned how to survive on your own.”

  Sansa took hold of the wrist belonging to the hand he had on her face. She smiled a little and said truthfully, “I do not want to survive on my own.”

  He looked down at her deeply, knowing what she meant, and snarled, “You will never have to.”

She gazed up at the grey-eyed man, and inhaled his scent–so masculine–and stared at his hair, the color of his eyes, the burns of his face, committing them to memory.

  They were interrupted by Frema saying, “Alys darling, remember the caravan. We have to go now.”

  Sandor and Sansa nodded in agreement, not tearing their gaze from each other, nor their touch, for a moment. When they broke apart, Sandor went to pat his blacksmith friend in the back, thanking him for everything, “And for that sword of yours as well. It’s bloody good.”

  Sansa smiled and thanked Burnek with all her heart, and while Frema and Vintos stepped forward to do the same, Sandor suddenly put his warm hands around her waist and before she could even blink, he’d seated her on Stranger.

  “You are going to hurt yourself,” she reprimanded him.

  He only laughed at her and said, “Bugger that. You may be tall for a girl, but you’re light as a feather.”

  She smiled when he seated himself behind her, after he’d slung his scabbard to the saddle so the pommel was within his reach.

  “Vintos, you and Frema ride Nan and lead the way to the gate,” Sandor said.

  Vintos nodded and helped his wife up onto the chestnut mare. Sansa felt Sandor’s strong arms circling her protectively as he reached out for Stranger’s reins, and she leaned down her weight on his chest, resting her cheek against the hard metal of his breastplate. _The nightmare is done, and you have him back now_.  Sansa had not been able to stop her tears from flowing once she was back in Sandor’s arms. Those had been tears of utter happiness, and the feelings which had stirred in her heart at having him with her again had been too overwhelming.

  “Are you ready, Sansa?” he whispered in her ear, leaning down.

  His warm breath on her skin made her shiver in delight. She closed her eyes, treasuring this moment. “Yes, I am ready. Please, take me away from this city.”

  Sandor gave a last nod of farewell to Burnek, and they were off into the streets of Great Norvos. _They are crowded again_ , Sansa noticed. Now that there were no more trials or fights or beheadings, the Norvoshi had to go back to their daily tasks, and even if some of them recognized them, Sansa didn’t really notice it or care. She was smiling as Stranger followed Nan’s lead, while Vintos conducted them to the northern gate where they knew the caravan had set out from hours before, around midnight.

  As they made their way through the cobblestone streets, Sansa’s mind drifted back to the evening she and Sandor had first arrived here. They had been searching for a place to live, and they’d met Vintos and he’d directed them to _The Three Bells Inn_.

  The days and nights they had shared under the roof of their little house had been full of happiness in their simplicity, and they’d grown so close to each other that it was no wonder they had both reacted so strongly to the outcome of their acquaintance with Arman.

  She recalled telling the guards of the Bearded Priests that stopped them at the gates as they entered Norvos, that she was Sandor’s wife. _I guess I sort of lived up to that name in the time we were here_ , she thought with a smile. When she saw Vintos and Frema turning to look at them with a nod, Sansa stretched her neck to see what lay ahead of her friends, and saw that they had reached the northern gate of Great Norvos. She gazed at the ancient High City resting up in the mountain called Mother Rhoyne, and smiled because that was not going to be the place where she would be spending the rest of her life.

  “Keep your face down,” Sandor told her, as he brought Stranger beside Nan. Sansa turned her head to the side, catching sight of Frema, who winked at her in reassurance. She prayed silently that nothing would go wrong now, and tried to avoid staring at the guards of the Bearded Priests in front of their little party.

  Thankfully, the old gods and the new must have been listening, for the city guard showed no interest in travelers going _out_ of Norvos–and least of all when it was to the barren north they wished to head to. The guards were concerning themselves with the ones that were entering the city.

  The moment Stranger stepped out of Norvos, Sansa’s face broke into a smile, and she felt Sandor pressing her closer to him, as if reassuring himself that she was not going to disappear soon. Sansa, relishing at the proximity of their bodies, managed to forget for a moment that the next stage of their journey would take them to the crossroad where she would have to part from Frema and Vintos.

  The natural beauty of the landscape was enough to distract her for a time. Sansa’s eyes fell on the pine forests that they rode through, as they passed by the foot of the smaller mountains that composed the Hills of Norvos. The grand vastness of the wilderness that met them when they were barely outside of the city took her breath away. And so they at long last put an end to the milestone that had been their time in the Free City of Great Norvos, and before _Narrah_ announced midday, they were all far away.

  Sansa didn’t really have a chance to converse much with her friends. For close to three hours, the only thing they did was ride and follow the wide road to the North, sometimes stopping so Sandor or Vintos could go and relieve themselves, but besides that, there were no interruptions to their escape. They did encounter many peasants heading towards the city, but Sansa’s fear of encountering Mellario of Dorne coming from her estate in the Hills of the Nizzi to congratulate her nephew on his upcoming wedding never came to pass.

  _Now_ _she’ll only find ghosts there_. She shuddered as she recalled the news of how Theon Greyjoy had killed her little brothers back in Winterfell. _Do ghosts await me as well?_ Sandor had his own past to haunt him as well. Even Frema had something to mourn for due to her love affair with that man before she married Vintos. _Everyone suffers in this life. Princes and villagers_.

  At one moment, she had been about to voice her fear to Sandor regarding Mellario, but something stopped her. _It’s good to be cautious_ , _but if you dwell too much on the possibilities of something bad happening, you won’t enjoy the chance with Sandor the gods have given you_.

  If she was honest with herself, Sansa was not afraid of what laid before her now. _Weeks on the road_ , she gathered, _with only Sandor to talk_ _to_. Whatever it was that laid at the end of this new journey could not be worse than the terrible fate they had just escaped from.

  Yet no matter how much she fought it, her heart became heavier and heavier, for it pained her to think of what was to follow once they reached the crossroad the couple had talked about two nights ago.

  “The way to our village from the city is to the north, but soon enough we will come upon a crossroad beside three big rocks, and there is where we will turn to the East, Alys,” Vintos told her. “But you and Edric must follow the road to the North. The caravan is not likely to have left the road yet. It’ll follow it from a week or so, before they start going down twisted unknown paths that will get them across the Hills of Norvos.”

  When they reached the crossroad beside three big rocks, Sansa gulped and tried to smile bravely for her friends. Vintos and Frema dismounted from Nan, while Sandor helped Sansa. The moment her feet touched the ground, she staggered a little, unaccustomed to riding for so long after such a long time in Norvos, but Sandor was quick to catch her. She thanked him before Frema threw her arms around her and started to cry.

  Sansa comforted her friend, patting her back, and telling her how grateful she was for everything she and Vintos had ever done for her and Sandor, meaning every word. Her eyes fell on Vintos, who was looking at his feet. He said, “This is a sad affair. I am really glad that you two managed to overcome what happened in the last days, but it’s still sad to say good-bye now.”

  Sandor looked a bit uncomfortable listening to Vintos; Sansa went to hug the latter. Frema and Sandor were left staring at each other for a moment. Finally, Sandor coughed and rasped, “It was good to have met you both.”

  Frema smiled as she dried her tears. “You’ll take care of Alys, won’t you?”

  Sandor nodded solemnly, and Frema appeared content with that silent promise. Sansa punched Vintos slightly on the arm after they’d drawn apart, and he said, “It was a pleasure to have met you both. I don’t think–I don’t think we’ll ever forget you.”

  “No, it is us the ones who are honored to have met you,” Sansa told them, shooting a look at Sandor, urging him to say something.

  “Seven buggering hells,” Sandor rasped. “Don’t mention it, Vintos. I owe you and your wife a lot. Thank you for taking care of her when I was unable to do so.”

  Frema smiled widely at those words, and Vintos looked simply startled but pleased when Sandor offered him his hand.

  When they finished shaking hands, Vintos cleared his throat and said, “If we ever have a child, we wanted to know if you wouldn’t mind us calling him Edric if it’s a boy, or Alysanne if it’s a little girl…”

  Sansa gently squeezed his hand, and exclaimed, “I shall pray to the gods that your child is healthy, and lives up to be as good as the parents when he or she comes into the world.”

  When Vintos and Frema turned towards the East road at last, they did so wishing Sandor and Sansa all luck in the world, and Sansa realized as she watched their retreating backs walking away, that it didn’t really matter that her friends would never learn who she and Sandor were. _They do not know Sansa Stark or Sandor Clegane. They came to know and love Alysanne Mallister and Edric Goodbrook, and those are the names they should chose for their child._

  The moment they finally disappeared from her view, Sansa knew that Alysanne and Edric were now gone forever. It was time to move on. Sansa turned around to see that Sandor had been regarding her quietly, and she smiled and never thought about her next movement twice. She walked over to him and hugged him, drawing comfort from his presence, while Sandor’s strong, muscled arms encircled her. One of his hands held her by the waist, while the other began to caress the back of her head, running it down across the length of her auburn curls.

  “They’ll be all right,” Sandor rasped in a low tone, after they had been hugging for some minutes. “They don’t like it, but they’re survivors.”

  Sansa buried her face on his chest, feeling the cold dirty metal of his armor against her cheek. “I know they will.”

  “Sansa,” Sandor said, at last calling her by her name now that they were alone that there was no danger of saying it out loud. “We–we have to talk, little bird.”

  She raised her face to look at him. “I know we do. But, please, let’s talk later. I’m so happy right now without anything else in my mind but the fact that you are here with me again. And besides, there is no time. We have to reach the caravan.”

  Sandor nodded, stroking the line of her cheekbone with his rough fingers. “Very well. Let’s go.”

  They walked over to where the horses were eating some dry grass, and Sandor snarled, “Would you still like to ride in front of me? We can tie Nan’s reins to us.”

  “Of course,” she said, grabbing his hand. Sandor quickly tied Nan to the warhorse, and once again lifted her up to Stranger’s saddle, as if she really didn’t weigh anything at all. His hands were strong and never trembled as he held her, and when she had adjusted herself on the saddle, she looked down at him, smiling, meaning to thank him, only to find that he was staring at her intently. She felt Sandor’s hand slide down slowly from her waist to her hip, down her thigh till it had caressed the length of her leg before it stopped on her calf.

  “Thank you,” she finally said, still smiling.

  Sandor squeezed her calf in answer and let his hand linger there for a moment. He took his hands away slowly, his long fingers brushing against the fabric of her simple dress, before he seated himself behind her. When he again surrounded her with his arms, Sansa’s tummy started making funny noises.

  “Are you hungry?” he rasped bending towards her neck. The feeling of his warm breath on her ear was nice.

  “Very,” she replied letting out her breath, as her tummy made funny noises. “I–I have not been able to enjoy anything for days now.”

  “I am afraid you won’t be enjoying good food for a while. Here, there’s an apple.”

  “What about you?” she asked, after he had searched in the saddlebag for one, and passed it to her.

  “I’ll eat later. I need both hands now. But you go on ahead, little bird.”

  “How does your arm feel now?” she wondered, shifting around in the saddle to get a good look at him. “Does it still hurt you very much?

  Sandor rasped a laugh. “No, little bird. It doesn’t hurt me very much. It’s nothing I can’t stand.”

  Sansa bit her lip, uncertain. “You will tell me if it starts to hurt you again, won’t you?”

  Sandor brought his forehead to rest against the side of her head as he said, “If you wish.”

  “Promise?”

  “Aye, little bird. I promise.”

  “Very well. I’ll take a look at it when we’ve settled for the night. I will have to change it at least twice a day.”

  Before she was even finished, Sandor kicked Stranger in the stifle, and the horse was off in the blink of an eye, galloping down the road, Nan quickly following, while Sandor held her closer to him.

  They didn’t talk much. But there were so many things in both their minds, that silence was now just another sign of trust between them. It wasn’t like in the first days after they’d fled King’s Landing. If they had been silent then, it was because they were strangers compared to what they were now, and both had been, in one way or another, afraid of each other. But now they could be silent and draw comfort from it.

  Sandor concentrated on riding, steering Stranger through the safest terrains he could find as they followed the road north, with only occasional stops. Once they reached the banks of a small river, Sandor got down from the black horse to make sure it was safe to cross before he led Stranger and Nan to the other side. It was shallow and easy to ford.

  From there, they kept on following the road, knowing they were going the right way because there were no other roads about, and because the caravan made its presence known on the lands it crossed by footprints or small belongings people left behind. Through valleys and up small hills they rode, with a range of tall mountains to one side. Some hours after they had parted from Vintos and Frema at the crossroads, they passed a large village settled at the foot of the Hills of Norvos. The village was an untouched place inland of the mountainous region. It was a little arduous to get to it since it was so far removed from everyone, making Sansa feel like she was traveling through time back to the ancient times before the Andals crossed the Narrow Sea to Westeros. Few people lived in the village, and they spent their lives tending little gardens amongst weeds, while children played naked in the mud.

  At one point Sansa found herself recalling Arman Nervere. She was sorry that he had to die, for it could’ve been avoided, but she had seen so much in the past two years that his death did not really make an impression on her. _If he ever did me a kindness, then I am thankful to him for that at least_.

  She didn’t think it possible, but at one point, near dusk, when the sun was low in the sky and they had slowed down in fear of breaking their horses’ legs, Sansa felt her eyelids close and she managed to snatch some sleep for a little while in the saddle. She never knew how long she drifted off to the land of dreams, but her eyes opened wide when Stranger stopped moving, and she realized just how weary she felt. The consequences of the lack of sleep and food in the last worrying days were making their appearance now, which was no good. Her legs felt numb from all the time they’d been riding.  

  Sansa looked around her and saw that they had now left some the woods behind them, and were standing at the top of a small hill, and below them, the caravan was settling down for the night.

  “Little bird,” Sandor said behind her, moving her gently, “We’ve reached the caravan. Wake up. We have to be ready before we reach it.”

  “Ready for what?”

  Sandor got down from Stranger, and replied, “Come, let me help you or you’ll fall from the horse.”

  Sansa put her arms around his shoulders, wincing a little as she touched the ground. It had been so long since they rode this long in a single day, yet every little shot of pain felt as familiar as if it had only been yesterday.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her with concern in his voice, as he supported her up. She nodded, grabbing his strong arms for support.

  “Yes, I just need to rest.”

  “You’ll be able to do so in a moment,” Sandor told her, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. “I’m tired. Little bird, before we go down there, do you remember the story we told the captain of the ship that brought us to Essos?”

  Sansa nodded, recalling with detail every day they’d been aboard _The Summer Bird_.

Sandor continued, “We should call ourselves like we did back then. We must guard our tongues here. If anyone asks, I am bloody Ser Byan Stone–”

  “And I’m Jeyne,” she finished. “We escaped Westeros because we thought we could make a better life in the East rather than in the Seven Kingdoms with the war going on. I don’t think they will be asking us much more than that. Vintos said they wouldn’t care about us, so long as we paid for joining the caravan.”

  “Vintos was right. Do you think you can walk down the hill, Sansa, and lead Nan as well? I need a free arm so that I can reach my sword in case we need it.”

  “I think so,” she answered, disentangling her chestnut mare’s reins while Sandor buckled on his sword belt. They made their way slowly down the hill, the light of many little fires guiding them. When they reached the foot of the hill, Sansa saw that there were more than five-and-ten fires spread in the surroundings, with people resting by them in small groups that went from two to ten. The nearest gave them furtive glances, but once their eyes fell on Sandor, armed and with his usual scowl, they were quick to return to their business.

  _They are a solemn lot_ , Sansa thought, as Sandor guided her over to a solitary tree away from the fires. She tended his wound while Sandor assured her that it didn’t really hurt him much anymore. Once they had started a fire, fed the horses and tied them up, Sandor took out some of the food she and Frema had packed two nights ago.

  They were so tired that they didn’t even untie their bedrolls. There was bread and cheese and skins of water. Sansa was content with just eating her dinner silently, looking all around her, at the people who would be their traveling companions for who knew how many weeks.

  Sandor had meanwhile taken out the maps of Essos they owned, and was staring at it intently. 

  “It’s not so very cold tonight,” she commented at one point, using her dagger to cut more bread.

   He didn’t even raise his eyes from the map. So concentrated was he. Yet he shrugged and said, “Can’t really feel it with this armor on.”

  “Won’t you take it off? I can help you.”

  Sandor looked up at her, as she knew he would do, “It’s a tempting offer, little bird, but I don’t think so. If I take it off, someone could steal it. And it’s too much weight for Stranger to carry all day long. I don’t need to ride all the time. I can carry the weight for a long time.”

  Sansa took a last drink from her skin of water, and as ladylike as she could, she moved over to where Sandor was sitting, his back to the trunk of the tree.

  “Hold me,” she told him, and he did, his eyes never leaving her face. She sat beside him, and Sandor put his arm around her, while she sighed at how good this gesture always made her feel. Someone coughed in the fire next to theirs, and a baby started crying some distance away, but they didn’t pay it any mind. 

  “Where are we heading to now, Byan Stone?” she asked Sandor, as his eyes went back to the map, his hand still caressing her arm unconsciously.

  Sandor laughed and ruffled her hair. “You didn’t think on what taking this caravan would mean, did you?”

  Sansa shook her head. “No. I planned our escape from Norvos. It’s your turn to decide where we are going to go.”

  “Well, we don’t really have that much gold anymore, little bird,” he said, in a low voice in case anyone was close enough to hear them. “I will ask an inspector as soon as I see one if this caravan is in truth really heading for the North, and just where to exactly. If we reach the Shivering Sea, I reckon I could find some work to do in one of the towns by the sea, and once I’ve earned enough wages to get us passage aboard a ship, we could decide then where to go forth next. Westeros, or another of the Free Cities.”

  Sansa didn’t want to think about that now. “Wake me up when you are feeling sleepy and I’ll keep second watch.”

  He grunted in agreement. Sansa shifted around and gave Sandor a quick hug and a kiss on his burned cheek. “Sandor, I know that you don’t like it when I call you brave. But you showed great courage this morning.”

  Sandor looked deep into her Tully blue eyes. “I was afraid, Sansa. When I saw that bloody flaming sword, I couldn’t breathe for a moment.”

  “I understand,” Sansa assured him, feeling so much for her big man in these moments. Her hand lightly traced the scars and burns that had ruined half of his face before she went on, “I overheard my father telling my brother Robb and Jon once that the only time when a man can be brave is when he is scared. I know in my heart that had you been forced to face fire again, you would have won.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, I wish for you all to have a Wonderful Christmas, and I send you a big hug!! The last couple of months with this fic have only been more meaningful because of you all. Thank you for reading and reviews are love :D <3


	27. The Fading Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> *Thank you for everything my excellent betas: onborrowedwings, nysandra & swiftsnowmane!! :D  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.
> 
> *I would like to dedicate this chapter to onborrowedwings J thank you for being with me since the start of this fic, my friend!

Sansa woke up to the sound of a horse neighing nearby. The sound had startled her, and she had opened her eyes quickly, only to find that her auburn curls were all about her head, obscuring her vision. She knew at once that she was sleeping on her bedroll on the hard ground, but by the sweet dreams she’d been having, she would have bet she’d been resting back in her old bedroom in Winterfell, with a feather pillow and a warm blanket.

  No matter how much she wished it, Sansa knew that trying to fall back to sleep would not help one bit. Since the moment she had woken up, the sharp pain on the muscles of her legs due to riding all day long yesterday was returning quickly to her body. Giving a resigned grunt, she propped herself up on her elbow, thinking that Sandor would still be resting, but apparently she was the last person in the caravan to have woken up. He was not sleeping beside her, though the large bedroll to her right was proof enough that the comforting warmth she’d felt in the night had indeed come from his arms.

  Shaking some of her hair out of the way, her blue eyes started to roam all around her, seeing how the travelers seemed to have been up and about for quite some time, as they packed up their baggage, or brushed the hair of their horses, ponies, or donkeys. A family nearby was eating cold mutton, the remains from last night’s dinner, while a couple with a baby three fires to the left was trying to teach their child how to call them “Mama” or “Papa.” By the look of it, they were at the very end of the caravan, with all the people who struggled to keep up because they were traveling with children, wagons, sheep, and even some piglets.

  She smiled, for the couple with the baby reminded her of Frema and Vintos. _They’ll be good parents. I hope they reach their village safely_.

  Sansa stretched out on her bedroll, upon a forsaken and forgotten piece of land at a small valley at the foot of a small hill. _It’s a pretty place_ , she thought, gazing at the green grass and blue of the sky, the way the air made the leaves in the trees whistle, or the birds singing nearby.

  She stood up, hands on her hips, her head turning right to left and back to front, searching for Sandor. She found him brushing Stranger’s coat, talking to the horse as if he was an old friend. She smiled, and tried to smooth the skirts of her green gown–which was sadly already starting to turn very dirty–and to untangle her hair with her fingers. In order to give Sandor a bit more privacy with his horse, Sansa busied herself with rolling the bedrolls up, and carrying hers towards where Nan was tied up. She ruffled her mare’s hair, wondering if she’d already eaten, when Sandor stepped up beside her, his own bedroll under his arm, and rasped, “I’ve already given her some oats.”

  Sansa looked at him, smiling. “Good morning.”

  His eyes rested on her quietly. “Good morning, little bird,” Sandor replied, returning her smile with a grin before he began to tie the bedrolls to Nan’s saddle.  Sansa caught sight of Sandor briefly having trouble with carrying the weight of it with his left arm, and she said, “Sandor, you know you shouldn’t carry heavy things at the moment.”

  “I’ll be damned when the day I can’t carry a bloody bedroll comes,” he growled, not listening to her and grabbing her own bedroll as well.

  Sansa sighed. “I woke up in my bedroll, but I didn’t go to sleep on it. I was sitting by a tree with you beside me when I drifted off. You carried me to my bedroll and you also never woke me up to do second watch.”

  Sandor turned to meet her stare. “Why are we talking about all this shit, Sansa? My arm is not about to break just because I carried you or a bloody bedroll. It’s time we got further ahead to the front of the caravan. Could you wait a while and break your fast as we ride? The lazy buggers we are with will take at least another hour to depart.”

  “I won’t move till you let me change the dressing on your wound,” she said, crossing her arm in front of her chest, and raising her eyebrow. “And I thought my name was Jeyne, Byan Storm.”

  Sandor couldn’t help it anymore. He shook his head and with an amused grin on his face, he followed her over to sit beside the remains of their fire, so she could get a good look at his wound. Her water skin would need to be refilled the moment they reached a stream, but for now she used the remaining liquid to clean Sandor’s elbow, thinking that maybe having some wine would be more helpful.

  That made her remember that she had to talk to Sandor about what getting drunk had cost them both. _I’ll do it later. He must know that it was wrong to behave like that, and he must know that I won’t let that matter be forgotten_. She quickly glanced up at Sandor as she bent over his arm; he was staring with dislike at the people all around them, with no idea of what was passing through her mind.

  “Done,” she finally said, wrapping a fresh cloth around his wound.

  “I have something that belongs to you,” he told her, and from under his breastplate he brought out the handkerchief that she’d given him two days ago.

  “Keep it,” she replied, recalling a day so very long ago when he had gently dabbed blood from her lip after Joffrey made her see her father and septa’s heads. “I am sure you will need it again.”

  Sandor laughed. “I will, won’t I? And may I ask who you expect me to fight against for you now?”

  Her cheeks blushed and she lowered her eyes, trying to hide the smile that came to her face at his words. “You have Protector to help you with that. But I want you to have the handkerchief. One day I’ll give you one with a hound and a bird embroidered on it.”

  Sandor’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Thank you, little bird, but I think I would prefer to keep this one. Nice and simple, the way I like things. And who is Protector, by the way?”

  “All great swords need a name. It’s not just a knight’s custom, so surely you cannot find any fault with it. My father was not a ser and his sword was called Ice. The sword Burnek gave you will live to see great deeds, I am sure of it. Thus, I shall think of it as Protector even if you do not like it.”

  Sandor stared at her, his mouth beginning to twitch. “Seven bloody hells,” he said at last.

  “Sandor,” Sansa said, lowering her voice and looking about her just in case, but no one was paying them any mind. “Before you say anything, I wanted to thank you for what you did. Risking your life and all the rest. You have done so much for me I can’t begin to imagine what I could do to… No one... It–it was so good of you to–”

  “Of course I’d risk my life for you, little bird,” he told her, sparing her the need to go on when expressing herself and finding the right words were turning out to be difficult. Sandor understood. He always did. “And I would again.”

  After that, they packed up the rest of their belongings, and tied Nan again to Stranger’s saddle. Sansa didn’t feel like riding on her own just yet, seeing as she still felt weak regarding the strength of her legs, and the tiredness that had taken over her limbs, so Sandor sat her on Stranger before him, took the reins of the destrier in one hand, and wrapped the other around her waist.

  They rode beside the long queue that made up that caravan. The travelers spared them looks while they walked on and on, following the direction the people before them took, never asking a question, and winding their way slowly up the long steep path that led out of the vale. Near the start of the caravan, they found the men who were thought of as the “leaders,” grown men with families who had taken the route to the north from Norvos many times before. Sandor paid them the fees for him, Sansa, and the horses, and started asking questions about everything he could think of, to be sure that they had taken the right decision in joining the caravan and going north.

  Sansa was pleased with what she learned, and for a time she let her mind drift to the places where she would like to head for next. _I think Braavos, Lorath and Westeros are the only places we could go to next. Where do I want to go now? What’s best for us_?

  She still wanted to see her family again, and settle down in Winterfell, but now that she knew her love for Sandor could not be put aside, it was not easy to think of what would be the wisest course for them to take _. I still have some weeks to think about it, at least_ , she told herself, as she heard the leader of the caravan telling Sandor how long it was likely going to take them to reach the Shivering Sea.

  The following fortnight passed by slowly. Sansa and Sandor did not find much privacy among the caravan, and thus they had to restrain themselves from holding on to each other during the nights, and other such gestures. They did not even find the right moment to start having a private conversation about what had happened between them the night they had kissed. The caravan consisted of around five-and-twenty families, of varying ages and numbers. Since they were never alone, all Sandor and Sansa did for most of the day was ride silently, and tiredly fall asleep under bushes or the shadow of some tree during the night, when they didn’t have to keep watch.

  Though they were surrounded by people–and despite the enjoyable novelty of traveling with others in comparison to the endless journey to Norvos from Pentos–Sansa and Sandor found that they were really sharing this humble path alone, for most of the time they didn’t understand many of the words they heard the families around them exchanging, and the Rhoynish folk didn’t fare any better with the way the foreigners in their midst spoke.  Their fellow companions were lowborn people from villages settled in the Hills of Norvos, whose most valuable possessions were made of copper, and thus they spoke Valyrian with an accent with flavors of the Rhoyne, very different to the one Sansa and Sandor had acquired in Norvos.

  Only about three men and one woman among them understood a little of the Common Tongue, leaving Sandor and Sansa to speak to each other alone most of the time, but the leader of the caravan was born and raised in Norvos, and they could communicate with him whenever the need arose. Yet Sansa thought it nice to travel in a caravan, even if they didn’t really come to know anyone.

  When her moonblood visited her some days after they had escaped Norvos, she no longer had to tear the hems of her gowns to use as a cloth between her legs. Now she could buy enough cloths, of poor material. And whenever they needed a sack of oats for the horses, a sack of flour to cover one of the places where they hid some of their coins; or when they wished to eat meat instead of bread and cheese, they only had to pay or ask for it, and they received it. At first, they thought it was because the peasants were afraid of Sandor, but after they grew used to his presence and realized he was not interested in them, they still behaved shyly around them.

  It didn’t matter. It was nice to share a fire with others, even if they all minded their own business. There were even some nights when people would sing old tales of haunting spirits and of legendary wars well known in this part of the world yet new to Sandor and her. The only time Sansa did not find it in the least pleasant was the night they had rested in a high place that looked over the lower lands they’d been traveling the previous couple of days. She had been sitting beside a tree, massaging her tired feet–that thankfully had no blisters on them yet–when out of a nearby bush a beautiful brown and white rabbit poked his head out to stare at her.

  She had giggled, and remained very still as the animal approached her, but the moment she tried to caress it, it spun away and disappeared. That was the last she thought she’d seen of it, but later that evening she saw the men who hunted for the caravan grabbing the poor rabbit by the ears. They’d killed it. Sandor only sighed when she confessed why she didn’t feel very hungry that night, and took a bite of the greasy roasted hare.

  One night, after a particularly tiring day of riding Nan up high slopes, the caravan had settled under the shadow of some ancient ruins that seemed to have been built out of the very stone of the hill behind it, and Sandor and Sansa were resting on their bedrolls staring up at the stars shining bright in the dark sky, talking, enjoying the peace of the mountains around them, and watching an eagle flying high above them. Sansa would always remember that night, because that was the time she learned that the Cleganes came from a line that could be traced back to the First Men, like the Starks and all the old families from the North.

  The following morning they set out after a good sleep, and made their way across the extensive range of the high hills located at the north-western end of the mainland of Essos.  It was madness that Sandor and she found stability in this journey. The sunless days turned out to be hard and dreary. It was a slow going, but soon they left the headwater of the river Noyne behind, and they turned their direction towards Lorath Bay, traveling at the foot of the mountains upon narrow overgrown paths little known to the rest of the world, shunning roads as they plodded along at a slow walking pace.

  There were less and less terraced farms and small villages to be seen the further they advanced into the rough and barren flatland country in between the mountains, but whenever the people of the caravan gave a thankful prayer to their river gods for managing to live another day without the presence of unfriendly eyes, Sansa would wonder what could they mean by that, for there was not a single soul besides them to be found in these forgotten places.

  After almost three weeks on the road, there came a night when unexpected events came to pass, breaking the monotony of the caravan and of the life to which Sandor and Sansa had momentarily settled in.  They had been traveling silently, as they always did at dusk, too tired to do much else, when they came upon a large lake in the middle of a valley surrounded by tall mountains, and decided to settle there for the night. The leader of the caravan said this had always been a good place to rest, since the ground was smooth and the lake provided them all with water to refill their skins.

  Sandor got off Stranger and lead both horses across an old bridge that led to the lake, with Sansa walking behind them. When her eyes finally fell on the lake, she held her breath, for it was the most beautiful landscape she had seen in weeks. There was a waterfall on the north bank, and the distant mountains were veiled in the deepening dusk in such a lovely way that she stood still, letting her eyes take in everything around her as a cold wind rose. She shivered, remembering cold nights long ago and summer snows from her childhood in Winterfell, as well as the words of her house. _Winter is Coming_. Had snow already reached the south of the Seven Kingdoms? Was Westeros already in winter’s tight grip?

  She had last seen snow the day she’d left Winterfell. Robb had melting flakes in his hair when he hugged her, and the snowball Arya tried to make kept coming apart in her hands. It hurt to remember how happy she had been that morning. Hullen had helped her mount, and she’d ridden out with the snowflakes swirling around her, off to see the great wide world.

  She was sad to think how wrong she’d been to think King’s Landing would be where she’d love to spend the rest of her life, but in the end she had survived the lions of Lannister and the High Magister of Norvos, and here she was now, having seen much of the great wide world, with Sandor as her faithful companion.

 _It would be so lovely to be back in Winterfell with Sandor_ , she thought, before a more practical wish took hold of her mind. _I wish I could take a bath there._ Cleaning herself up had to be reduced lately to washing her face and hands and feet whenever she could. She was sure she looked as dirty as she’d ever been, and she could do nothing about it till they reached some inn near the Shivering Sea. Sighing, Sansa looked away from the lake.

  The caravan settled on the south edge of the river, and Sansa made her way towards where Sandor had decided they would be resting tonight. Some hours later, they had a warm dinner by a fire, and after they’d settled their bedrolls on the soft ground side by side, Sansa went away to relieve herself to the place the leaders of the caravan had decided would be used by the women, excusing herself with a blush.

  She made her way through the already sleeping forms of people scattered everywhere after she’d washed her hands on the lake, very quietly, so as not to wake her neighbors.  A man’s raised voice was suddenly heard, breaking the tranquility of the place and the moment. Sansa turned around to see that some distance away from the caravan, the crude man who was always getting drunk was once again yelling at his poor wife.

  Sansa clenched her hands into fists as people all around her began to stir and yell at the man to shut up. At times, she felt that she detested that man. Over the past weeks, she had seen how he mistreated his wife. He never hit her, but he ordered her around as if she were livestock, and once every week he always decided to start screaming at her for no reason at all. The poor woman would simply do her best to try and calm him down, to no avail. Sansa felt very sorry for her. She had thought of befriending the woman, but the couple was the least communicative of the group of travelers, and in any case, her husband was always close to her, making her wish impossible to grant.

 

***

 

  Sandor was unsaddling Stranger when he saw the little bird coming towards him, an angry frown on her face. He tried not to smile as he raised an eyebrow at her in question, for even angry she looked pretty.

  Sansa spoke in the Common Tongue, once she was beside him. “That horrible drunken man is once again yelling at his wife.”

  He shook his head and took a deep sigh, turning towards Nan to unsaddle her. The bloody man had chosen that moment to say, “Fuck, so now you’re crying! What a stu–”

  “I can’t stand him,” Sansa shoot an angry look in the direction of the couple. “I wish we could–”

  “Sansa,” he said, interrupting with the rough rasp of his voice, straightening up. “They are no concern of ours.”

  “But–but you’ve told me yourself that you don’t like the man either,” she said, perplexed.

  Sandor grunted. She was right, he didn’t like the bastard and all his bleating when he drank more than he could handle, but he wasn’t about to intervene in whatever the man and his wife were doing.

  “I didn’t like the lions either, and I nonetheless guarded them for years. Little bird, you can’t save that woman. No one can.”

  Sansa wasn’t going to give up that easily apparently. “They _can_ , they just haven’t tried.”

  “Exactly. No one here will lift a hand to help the woman. She isn’t the only woman with a husband like that. And she won’t be the last. The only thing you can do is pray to your gods for her, but that won’t do much good, because there are no gods. It’s like I told you once, remember? If there are any, they made the weak for the strong to play with, and that’s what’s happening with them.”

  The disbelief in Sansa’s face increased. She regarded him with hard wide eyes, and a pursed mouth, waiting for him to shut up. When he did, he heard the rage inside her in her icy low tone, as she said, “You are a fool, Sandor Clegane…”

  And without a further word, she turned around and went to lie down on her bedroll, her back to him, after she’d dragged it as far away from his as she thought prudent. Sandor blinked, surprised by her reaction. His eyes followed her, and he cursed out loud. What the hell did she expect him to do about it? To save the woman from her halfwit husband the way he’d saved her once from Joffrey?

  _I should have ignored her_ , he thought. She’d complained about the man before, but he’d always tried to change the conversation. And now he saw the wisdom behind his previous actions.

  He walked over to his own bedroll, and knowing that Sansa was not sleeping, he shot a sullen glance in her direction.  He bowed his head tiredly on his arms before he lay back on the bedroll.

  Seven hells, this was such a stupid reason to quarrel about. The man wasn’t even screaming anymore. After a time, Sandor fell asleep despite everything. But when he woke up again long hours after midnight, he saw that the little bird was not asleep on her bedroll anymore. He sat upright in a heartbeat, and looked around him, but there was no sign of her nearby.

 

***

 

 Sansa had been having a dreamless light sleep when the sound of a wolf howling up in the mountains woke her up, every nerve atingle. Or at least, that’s what she thought it was at first. She sat on her bedroll quickly, but besides the men charged to keep an eye out for the caravan at the four points that enclosed the space everyone had settled in at, there was nobody else awake. _Did I hear the wolf in my dreams?_ she wondered, yet she had no recollection of having had any dreams tonight. _No, that’s silly. There are no wolves prowling the wilderness in this part of the world._

Sansa blinked and stood up. Dawn was still some hours away, and she realized she wouldn’t fall asleep again. She looked at Sandor, snoring and lost to the world.

  Her feet made no sound as she made her way to the lake, and passed the sentinel guarding the caravan from the east bank. She nodded her head at the man, whom she knew, and drifted past him, away from the caravan, along the edge of the lake, hugging herself as she played back in her mind what Sandor had told her about the poor woman and her drunken husband.

  She knew he was right. Many men were nasty to their wives, and not only commoners. Even King Robert had tormented Queen Cersei and Joffrey had tortured her. She didn’t know if her father’s friend had ever hit the Lannister woman, but she had seen them arguing more than once after the king was way into his cups. _Maybe that’s why this affects me. They remind me of the nightmare King’s Landing became after Father died_.

  Sandor’s defense had only left her confused, for he’d started talking about how the strong ruled the world, nonsense that had nothing to do at all with their present argument. Sansa had seen that he would be unreasonable tonight; so, gathering her dignity, she had turned around and walked away from him.

  With a heavy heart, she wondered when the time for them to settle everything between them straight would come, since this row only seemed to have delayed that from occurring. Sansa looked back at the caravan, and saw that she’d walked all the length of the edge of the lake, and now she was on the northern bank, with the beautiful waterfall before her. _It doesn’t look so big up close_ , she noticed, looking up at the cliff from which it was falling down.

  She watched the way white mist and foam would appear the moment the water hit the lake, sighing. Besides the sound of the small waterfall, there was stillness in the air that she found quite lovely and soothing.

  The air was warm and heavy with the scent of strange flowers, and there was something about the lake that made its beauty special, unlike anything she had ever seen before, as if it was ethereal somehow. _This is a pure world_. She stayed there for a long time, with a small smile on her face, until she heard heavy footsteps coming up to her. Before she even turned her head to look around, she already knew it was Sandor coming towards her. She closed her eyes, steeling herself for what was to come.

 

***

 

  Sandor had started looking for Sansa, his heart at his throat and his longsword slung on his back, before a sentinel he knew by name told him he’d seen Jeyne walking over towards the north bank of the lake. _And why the seven hells did you let her do that, bloody idiot?_ He thought, as he passed him towards the direction where his little bird was supposed to have flown to. In a matter of minutes, he found her. Sansa’s auburn hair stood out vividly from a distance, and the closer he got to her, the more he felt that he’d stepped into one of his dreams. When he was almost upon her, she turned her head and looked at him, rooting him to the spot even as he drew an intake of breath at the way she looked beside the waterfall, so utterly innocent and pure, making him feel momentarily unwilling to disturb such perfect beauty. Without a word, Sansa turned around and headed over to a very small grove that was nearby, and sitting herself gracefully on a large rock in front of it, she glanced once again at the lake, and waited for him.

  Gulping, Sandor ran a hand through his hair before he made his way to where she was sitting, wondering how he could explain his previous behavior, and the reasoning behind his actions. _Not that she asked me for an explanation_. But still, he knew it was the right thing to do. Yet the little bird spared him that with her first words…

 

***

 

  Sansa sat upright below the shadow the trees cast, gazing across the lake at the eastern shore, until Sandor was standing before her. She looked up at him expectantly with a rigid countenance when he didn’t start speaking. She saw that he was staring at her intently, and it dawned on her that this was the first time in weeks when they were finally completely alone.

  At long last Sandor growled in a deep voice, “I’m sorry, little bird.”

  Sansa sighed resignedly. She didn’t want to fight over the way they had behaved in the past. Deciding that talking calmly was the best course, she admitted, “I know you weren’t being mean, Sandor. There is wisdom behind what you told me, except for the bit about the gods. But seeing that defenseless woman only makes me remember King’s Landing.”

  Sandor regarded her silently for a moment. “I was not only talking about what happened earlier, little bird, but I do understand you now.”

  “Then what else are you sorry for?”

  She thought she already knew what he was talking about, but she wanted– _needed_ –to hear him say it.

  “For what I did when I came home that night,” he snarled.

  Sansa shifted a little on the flat stone she was on. She did not need to ask what night he meant. There was a certainty on the back of her mind that told her that maybe the time to talk about what they felt for each other had arrived. And so she asked him, being the first of the two to acknowledge out loud what had transpired between them, “Are you apologizing for kissing me back?”

  Sandor made a sound that might have been a laugh if his voice hadn’t sounded so full of pain. “No. I am sorry for kissing you _while_ I was drunk, when I could’ve done it any other time, when I was sober and had my wits about me. I am so sorry for leaving you alone after that. And I am sorry for not being there to stop Nervere when that bugger forced you to kiss him.”

  Sansa gulped, her heart starting to beat faster. She didn’t know what she wanted to do, so instead she asked, “And why did you react so strongly when he kissed me?”

  Sandor shrugged and twisted his mouth, his scars pulling tight across the burned side of his face. “Because it was clear that you didn’t want to do so, and yet he insisted. He hurt you, and I had made a promise to you that no one would ever hurt you again, or I’d kill them. And it was too much for me. But I will never do anything so foolish again. I should’ve known the trouble it would cause us. I’m sorry.”

  Sansa was certain that something in her eyes must have disarmed him, because before she could even answer him, Sandor had fallen to his knees before her, without a word, bowing down so that his head rested on her legs. For a moment, she stood still, startled, and then her hands started moving of their own accord. One moment they lay at her sides, and the next they were resting on his shoulders, before her fingers slowly crept to the back of his ear and neck, brushing softly with her fingertips the sensitive hot skin there, and she toyed with strands of his dark hair. She was afraid her legs would start to tremble, unaccustomed to the heavy weight now upon them.

  When she felt a light wetness on her gown, Sansa did not need to ask what it was. She knew it was the same salty water that she had felt with the palm of her hand long ago back in her bedroom in King’s Landing, when green fire lit up the sky instead of a clear crescent moon, and she sang a song for her life.

  Drawing some courage from within her at those memories, Sansa’s hand began to slowly, but firmly, caress the perfect mass of muscle that was Sandor’s back, soothing the tension away with every movement of hers. _My dark, brooding, sullen big man_.

  “I am so sorry, too,” she whispered, after she’d kissed the back of his head. “For not having kissed you before.”

  This encouraged him to hug her legs closely, as if she was the last pillar on this world he could hold on to in order to avoid falling into the deep void of darkness and despair from which he’d risen months ago. One of his hands slid up her thigh to the small of her back, while the other remained holding her behind her knee. Her hands meanwhile busied themselves with sliding across the long wide length of his back.

  Sansa found herself murmuring to Sandor that everything was all right, before she brought her upper body down to rest on his, and returned his fierce possessive embrace, hugging him tightly, and resting her cheek on his right shoulder blade. _It’s as if we were one_ , she dimly thought through the haze of thoughts that were now trying to invade her conscience and her senses. Yet she paid them no heed. They stayed like that for long moments, till numbness possessed their limbs, making it hard for her to distinguish which were her arms, and which were her legs.

  When they felt their bodies betraying their hearts, as they unwillingly started to pry apart in an attempt to draw back blood to their extremities, they found that their hands were refusing to let go, burying fingers into the fabric of his warm tunic and her woolen dress. But they both knew they had to let go. They were not as alone as it appeared. The caravan could be seen if they turned their heads in its direction.

  So they broke apart, Sansa straightening up while Sandor disentangled himself from her, leaving only his huge hand to linger on her knee. He didn’t need to crane his neck to look up at her. Now that he was not bending over, his eyes almost reached the same height as hers, and when she smiled warmly at him, Sandor sat down on the flat rock beside her, returning her smile.

  He stared at his hands for a moment before he cleared his throat, and once again looked up to meet her gaze. “Sansa... I–I love you. Now and forever.”

  Sansa’s smile grew wider. She could not remember the last time she had felt like this: completely and absolutely happy. She blushed from neck to ears, and lowered her gaze. When she glanced up at Sandor and saw him drawing closer to her, without another moment to lose, Sansa closed her eyes and waited for Sandor to claim her mouth.

  This he did slowly, almost shyly, as if giving her the chance to draw back if she wanted to, but when she didn’t, his scarred lips started to caress her own, as he cupped her cheek with one hand and the back of her head with the other. Sansa knew this kiss had none of the desperate urgency they’d known in the previous one, so she brought her hand to rest against his wide shoulders, her finger lightly playing with his neck or hair. Sandor’s mouth was gently yet firmly claiming her own, nibbling softly at her lower lip, making her smile into the kiss.

  With every moment and exquisite gesture they drew confidence; she threw her arms around Sandor’s neck, hitting her hands against the longsword at his back as she encircled him, while the hand he had at the back of her head slid down to the small of her back before it pushed her closer to him, bringing her into the intimate space that had served as a gap between them. Sansa would later think of this as a pure moment, marveling at the tender way the ferocious man Westeros knew as The Hound, had treated her.

  It was just as wonderful as their first kiss. The noises he made were sounds that she alone was supposed to hear, and such intimate gestures as the ones they exchanged once they opened their mouths to let their tongues caress the length of the other, were something Sansa only wanted to do with Sandor, the man who had grown to be her best friend as well as her love.

  As with the first, she never knew how long it lasted, but when this sweet kiss ended, Sansa was certain that this time Sandor would not leave her side. When they drew apart and the shining blue eyes looked into the deep grey ones, Sansa cupped Sandor’s unburnt cheek lovingly, feeling his beard tickling her, and he closed his eyes, leaning into the caress, only to end up kissing her outstretched palm. Sansa leaned over to him and kissed Sandor’s burns, before she pressed her cheekbone against them and whispered, “Sandor.”

  “Hmm?” he groaned, as if in a dream.

  Sansa straightened up, wanting to tell him this while she looked at his face. When his eyes met her again, she said in a voice soft as a caress, “I love you, too. Now and forever.”

  Sandor laughed with pure joy and swiftly kissed her again; they held hands and she leaned her head on his wide shoulder, as they stared at the lake before them, noticing that dawn was not so very far away now. This long beautiful night was fading.

 

***

 

  Sandor would not have minded staying here like this with Sansa forever. The whole world could go bugger itself with a hot poker, and he would never even spare it a look. He wanted to preserve this moment till the end of time. Nothing like this had ever happened to him, and his chest hurt painfully–but the pain was a sweet one. He’d finally told Sansa how he felt about her, and then they’d kissed. The first kiss they’d shared had been fucking incredible, wild and passionate, and the constant thought of taking her had been at the back of his mind as they pressed their bodies against the wall, against each other.

  This kiss had been different, but just as good. Sandor didn’t even know till now that he had it in him to kiss like that. He had tried to be gentle and slow, to show Sansa a side of him he knew she would appreciate, and in doing so they had assured each other of their love with every touch of their lips and tongues. Sandor would’ve laughed had he imagined some years ago the way Eddard Stark’s daughter would end up affecting and changing him. He’d lived with hatred for so long, it always surprised him the way Sansa brought out something relatively good in him. _I will make it up to her. I will try to be a better man for you, Sansa_. She had been born for great things–to be his queen–but if fate had thought it best to have their paths combine like this, then he was eternally grateful. 

  And when he finally heard his little bird saying that she loved him as well, Sandor could hardly believe it. Fuck, what else could he ask for? He could think of other things, of course, but doing that was not meant to happen tonight. From now on he would simply enjoy this new change of circumstances, and he’d learned patience as well. There was no need to rush or hurry things. Whenever Sansa was ready and decided to ask him for anything else, then he would be beside her to willingly and eagerly give it to her.

  The one thing that could dampen his spirits now was still at the back of his mind, but Sandor didn’t want to think of that tonight. He did not wish to ask Sansa right now if she would be willing to spend the rest of her life with him–whether it was back with her family or in Essos. They would start this new day and live with their revelations and the kiss, and nothing more. One day, maybe sooner than he thought, Sandor would have to tell Sansa that he would not take her choice away, and would not–no matter how much it hurt him–go against her decision, but that day was not here yet.

  “Sandor,” his little bird chirped beside him, breaking his train of thought.

  “Yes?” he asked her, drawing little circles on the smooth soft skin of her wrist.

  “Do you remember everything that you told me the night we first kissed?”

  Sandor gave a snort. “No, little bird. Not everything. I gather I told you too many bloody things while I was drunk. I’m sorry if I hurt you by something I said.”

  Sansa laughed. “Yes, you do have that tendency. You’ve told me a few things over the time I’ve known you.”

  Sandor kissed Sansa’s head and rested his forehead against hers when she looked up at him, her beautiful eyes a pool in which he could drown himself.

  “You know, you really need to get your beard trimmed,” she said in jest, stroking his neck. “It’s growing quite unruly.”

  “What did I tell you that night?” he whispered, closing his eyes and smelling her hair, after he’d chuckled at her comment.

  He didn’t get his answer. In that exact moment, the loud sound of several horses galloping nearby startled him and Sansa out of the pleasant intimacy they were sharing.

  “What the fuck?” he rasped, standing up at once and stepping in front of a startled Sansa to shield her. Sansa stood up behind him, and Sandor cursed out loud when he saw what was happening. A band of thrice-damned outlaws were riding fast across the west bank of the lake, heading for the caravan. Some of the men had torches in their hands, so it wasn’t hard to see that there were around five-and-ten men. They were less than the ones in the caravan, but the outlaws had horses and were bound to have weapons on them, while the caravan also had women, children and elderly people.

  “Sandor,” the little bird exclaimed beside him. “They’re going to attack them. We must go and help!”

  He turned to look at her. “Listen to me, Sansa. I have to go there for Stranger and Nan. But you are to stay here. Hide in the trees, and do not leave this place till I come back for you. Do you hear me?”

  Sansa’s eyes had grown big as saucers. “Are you expecting me to wait here, not knowing what is happening to you while you–”

  “I have to get Stranger,” he told her, firmly grabbing her by the arms. “These are mountain outlaws. They are not only looking for plunder. Every horse they think fit to serve them will be stolen, and Stranger is a bloody warhorse, Sansa. The best of his kind. They even take women if they fancy them. I won’t let you risk yourself. _Please_ , wait here, little bird, and hide.”

  And without giving her time to respond, he turned around and ran quickly towards the commotion that was stirring through the caravan, as he reached for the longsword at his back. Sandor heard women screaming, babies crying, children calling for their parents, pigs squealing and sheep bleating, and he thought that he was not really surprised by this attack. Throughout time, highroad bandits had made a living out of attacking travelers to rob them of their belongings, and he’d never forgotten this, so he’d been on the lookout when he could, or when the people around them started to thank their gods for delivering them to a new location safely.

  Sandor had kept his worries to himself, not wanting to trouble Sansa or tell her that her plan to join the caravan had flaws, but now he cursed himself for a fool for not preparing her for this.  As he finally reached the place where the attack was happening, he heard some dogs barking, and realized that the outlaws also had hunting dogs with them. _Seven hells, if one of them sniffs after Sansa’s_ _trail_ …

  He never finished that thought. A young outlaw who had lost his horse suddenly appeared before him, clutching a sword. Sandor would’ve laughed at the way the green boy pissed his breeches when his eyes caught sight of his burned face. Instead, he opened the boy’s throat with a swift stroke of his longsword, fleetingly recalling that Sansa had named the blade Protector. Sandor ran towards the tree he’d tied Nan and Stranger to, and found that only the chestnut mare was there.

  “Bloody hells!” he roared, looking around him, seeing horses, and hearing the thunder of their hooves everywhere. Some with riders upon them, and others were simply galloping heedlessly away from the caravan. “Stranger!”

  Some distance away, his attention was momentarily caught by a tent on fire, but Sandor had faced the fires of Flea Bottom the day the people rebelled against Joffrey to find his beloved warhorse, and a miserable tent and a sorry bunch of outlaws were not going to take his destrier away. He’d hunt them down if any of them dared.

  “Look at that!” someone shouted behind him, and Sandor swirled around the moment he heard a familiar loud snort and saw that Stranger was cornered between a well and four enormous brown hunting dogs, while a man in black untied a rope from his belt behind the dogs. Sandor was about to step ahead and help his horse, forgetting about poor Nan in the process, when he stopped dead in his tracks and a beaming grin slowly appeared in his face.

  His bloody warhorse had gone mad, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, going white. In the blink of an eye, he stood on his hind legs and kicked the first of the dogs with his strong legs, breaking the animal’s jaw. As the remaining three dogs attacked him, Stranger struck at one with his hind legs as it sought to leap at him from behind, while the other dog made a mad attack at the horse’s head and ended up being beaten for his troubles.

  Sandor watched with an approving look as Stranger killed three of the four hunting dogs, and would have finished off the last one if her bloody owner hadn’t stopped her. The man yelled in a commanding strong voice that Sandor noticed spoke in the Valyrian of Norvos, “Mipa, stay!” and he started advancing on the warhorse, calling out soothing tones to try and calm him down. “Come here, horsey. Everything’s all right, horsey.”

  Sandor started laughing harshly. _Go on, idiot. Get yourself killed_. He had trained Stranger well. _Why was I bothering about him? He’ll bite the man’s head off before he takes another step_. 

  And sure enough, the moment the stranger was less than twenty steps away from him, Stranger charged at him. The man jerked back, using the rope as a whip to try and scare the horse, but the black destrier kept on galloping his way. The outlaw then raised the rope high before him with both hands, yelling, “Oi, you, stop it!” before Stranger was on him. Sandor gathered that the outlaw must be out of his wits, for he tried to jump on Stranger, but the horse shook him off and started stomping on him the moment he hit the ground. Mipa the dog ran away at that and was never seen again.

  After that, the poor bugger was deserted by his fellow outlaws as he tried to crawl away from the attack, shielding his face with his arms. Sandor never saw the bandits fleeing, but when he looked away from the fight between beast and man, after he heard one of the man’s bones breaking, he saw that the tent on fire had been extinguished, and all around him the people of the caravan were starting to quickly form a circle around the fight, cheering Stranger on, now that the threat of the outlaws had passed.

  He then started to move towards Stranger. The poor bugger was so crazy he had amused Sandor, and the sight of the bloody pulp his horse was making of him was not something he wanted to feel sorry about. _Better if we interrogate the outlaw and learn what other bandits are near_. _The rest can hang him or drown him or whatever they like after that, but I don’t want Stranger to go mad when Sansa will possibly be riding him again soon_.

  And so he stepped forward into the ring the travelers had formed, his hands raised to the level of his shoulders; before the black destrier smashed the man’s head, he called, “Stranger!”

  The horse recognized his master’s voice quickly. He stopped attacking the man, and raised his head in his direction, breathing loudly.

  “Stranger, come here,” Sandor instructed him, his eyes fixed into those of the warhorse. It took him a few moments to make up his mind, but in the end with one last kick at the unconscious figure of his enemy, Stranger walked over to Sandor, shaking his head. The crowd had gone silent. Sandor spared one last look at the outlaw, sprawled on the ground now washed with his blood, and saw that he was still breathing. A bit laboriously, but breathing nonetheless.

  Sandor took his horse’s reins and led the animal to the tree where Nan was still tied up. With a pat on the horse’s flanks, Sandor strode over again to the place where the outlaw was, thinking that it wouldn’t be good for Sansa to see this, or see what Stranger could do. The deep cut on his elbow which Nervere had given him weeks ago had almost healed, but the force he’d put in his arms as he cut the young outlaw’s throat had apparently been too much, for an annoying itch was returning to his arm. He ignored it; Sansa could see to it later.

  _I’ll go for her in a moment_ , he was thinking as his eyes suddenly caught sight of the little bird joining the ring of travelers who were starting to mutter about what they would do with the bandit.

 

***

 

  Sansa stood staring with her mouth open at Sandor’s retreating back. She’d wanted him to stay here and hide with her, but he had to go and save their horses. _Gods, don’t let him get hurt_. She’d gulped and followed his advice of hiding behind the small grove, nervously trying to distinguish what was happening back at the caravan. Screams wrenched the air, from both people and animals, and when Sansa caught sight of a tent on fire, she’d almost fainted as she imagined what that could mean to Sandor.

  Yet the attack by the outlaws didn’t really last very long. Some minutes after she’d hidden in the trees, squatting on the ground, she’d seen the bandits rapidly heading towards the direction from which they’d come from in a mad, desperate gallop towards the distant mountains, and the moment the last rider disappeared from sight, Sansa had run as fast as her long legs would carry her towards the caravan, searching for Sandor and Nan and Stranger.

  Seeing their fellow travelers gathered around a corner of the place where they had settled at for the night, Sansa made her way towards them, and stopped dead as her eyes saw what they were all staring at. The body of a man lay broken on the ground, bloodied all over, his left arm twisted grotesquely. Sansa covered her mouth with her hands and turned around, only to find the wide chest of Sandor before her. Without a word, Sandor hugged her, and said, “I told you to wait for me.”

  “What happened to the man?” she asked him. He didn’t answer. She raised her head from his chest to look at him, and saw the muscles of his neck tense as he gulped. She didn’t think it possible, since Sandor wasn’t even covered in blood, but just in case she said, “Did you do that?”

  Sandor met her eyes and shook his head. “No, Stranger did.”

  Sansa drew a surprised intake of breath, and Sandor quickly told her everything that had happened. When he was done, they realized that the men considered to be the right hands of the caravan’s leader were already kneeling beside the outlaw, trying to identify him. _Why did this night have to end in bloodshed?_ She wondered, as the first signs of dawn appeared, the sun rising in the horizon. 

  “Mother Rhoyne save us!” one of the men said.  “I think this is none other than Hagen Edar!”

  A loud murmur started at that, and a baby began to cry in her mother’s arms.

  “The fabled outlaw? Come on, don’t jest. Do you think Hagen Edar would be that easy to catch?”

  “Well,” said the man who’d spoken first, affronted that they didn’t believe him. “Come and have a closer look yourself then. This man has the same description as the stories say of Edar, and he even has the black skull necklace on him. Look!”

  “It’s true,” the crowd now started to exclaim excitedly. “You can’t really see it because of all the blood, but this man is dressed all in black, and if you’ve heard the tales, you know Hagen Edar always dresses in black. I’m telling you fool, this is him!”

  “And did you see the way he jumped into the charging horse?” a woman asked, with wide eyes. “I’ve never seen a crazier thing in my life. Byan Storm’s horse had already killed Edar’s dogs, but he actually kept his ground and tried to tame the beast. What other outlaw would do that? This is clearly mad Edar himself.”

  The leader of the caravan stepped forward towards the outlaw’s body, with raised hands. “How many men did we lose?”

 “Three. But one of the old men died when the first shouts of outlaws were heard. Another was that bastard who was always screaming at his wife; but his widow doesn’t look too sorry because of that. We’ve counted the other bodies and there are five outlaws dead.”

  The leader nodded, with a solemn look on his face. He spared a look over at Sandor, standing behind Sansa, his hands on her shoulders, and said, “Whoever he is, we should hang him. Does anybody have a rope?”

  “I think Edar himself had one. Oh, yes, look, here it is,” said a young eager man, a bit older than Sansa.

  “No,” Sandor rasped, surprising Sansa and everyone else. She tried to catch his eyes, but he walked past her into the ring, “We shouldn’t hang him at once. We should learn as much as we can from him. What if he knows where the next band of outlaws means to strike at us?”

  “But, Byan, look at him,” the leader declared. “Look at what your wonderful horse has done to him. He’s practically dead already.”

  Sandor spared a look at the figure of the outlaw everyone believed to be Hagen Edar, before he rasped in a voice that sounded like two wood saws grinding together, “He isn’t going to die. Stranger just left him unconscious. He looks like shit because of all the blood that’s covering him, but I’m willing to bet he only has some bones broken.”

  “Well, since the outlaws abandoned Edar to his fate and it was your horse the one that saved us, we should do as you tell us. It’s sensible advice… You–you don’t think the outlaws will come to avenge themselves for their fallen leader and their dead?”

  Sandor shook his head. “Not likely. The leader is the clever one among these groups, and now that they’ve lost him, they’ll probably scatter to the four winds or hide away in some cave with their tails tucked between their legs.”

  The leader of the caravan patted Sandor on the back while the travelers cheered Stranger’s name with beaming faces. Sansa was trying to adjust her mind to everything that had happened, not wanting to believe that Stranger was really able to leave a man so badly wounded. _He scared me once, but he’s been so gentle with me, and let me ride him up to the High City, and I can’t believe he would be capable of doing that_. Sansa decided that it was best if Sandor never knew she’d ridden Stranger twice on her own. _He’ll go on and on about it for ages_.

  The leader ordered the oldest women to clean up and try to heal the outlaw, while everyone else settled back to their campsites, repeating the details of the attack they’d just lived to their companions as if they hadn’t been there as well.

  Sansa and Sandor didn’t feel like doing those things themselves. They walked silently over to the place where their horses were tied up, and were glad to see that in the commotion of the attack, their saddlebags had luckily been overlooked by the outlaws and were still beside the tree where they’d left them. Even their bedrolls had survived the bandits’ raid.

  As dawn broke on them and the darkness faded way, Sandor and Sansa mostly just sat on their bedrolls, their hands entwined and caressing each other, not really talking much. She had cleaned Sandor’s wound and wrapped a new cloth around it, happy and proud of the progress of Sandor’s injury healing.

  Despite this, from time to time Sansa’s eyes would shift to look at Stranger, who was standing as if nothing had happened beside her chestnut mare, and when Sandor told her that it would do no good if she started fearing the black horse again, she was brave enough to go pat Stranger’s barrel, with Sandor standing protectively beside her.

  Sansa longed for the caravan to set out at once and leave this beautiful lake, because she was eager for the event of the outlaws’ attack to pass. She was sad that they had interrupted the wonderful moment she and Sandor had been sharing, but she took comfort recalling that at least the bandits hadn’t made their appearance while they confessed their feelings to each other, or while they kissed. _And at least that woman won’t be bothered by her husband anymore._

  An hour after the sun had risen, they heard that the outlaw was now coming back to consciousness. She and Sandor stood up quickly and made their way to the edge of the lake, where the old women were tending to the man thought to be Hagen Edar.

  When they arrived, Sansa saw that, with the blood washed away from his face, the outlaw’s looks were easy to distinguish. She gathered he was five-and-thirty, and that standing up he would be just a little taller than her. He had wiry blonde hair and dark eyes surrounded by crow’s feet. Sansa did not find him handsome, but if she overlooked the broken nose, he was pleasant to look at.

  “How is he?” she asked the old woman she had bought the cloths for her moonblood from.

  “He isn’t faring very well right now, but he’ll be all right. He’s got a broken rib, a broken arm, a broken nose and a purple eye for his troubles, but he’ll live.”

  Sandor and Sansa stared down along with other travelers at Edar, who was now trying to shield his eyes against the brightness of the sun, while he looked confusedly around him.

  When he tried to speak the first time, only a grunt of pain came out, and after trying four times, he at last managed to say in a weak voice that sounded strange due to the broken nose, “Oh, no, you’re all peasants!”

  Sansa blinked at that, and looked at Sandor, but his eyes never strayed from the bandit. He continued, “I–we thought you were merchants.”

  Sandor snorted, “Then you and your friends are fucking blind.”

  “But you come from Norvos, don’t you?”

  “We do. What of it, Edar? Do you only attack caravans out of Norvos?” The leader said, standing beside Sansa.

  “I _only_ attack _merchant_ caravans out of Norvos,” Edar corrected. “I’m sorry to learn that you were not one of them. Fuck, it was all for nothing.”

  “What was all for nothing?” Sansa heard herself asking.

  “Everything,” the bandit responded. “The attack; me getting beaten to death’s door by a horse, and getting caught also.”

  “What difference does it make who you attack?” Sandor rasped suspiciously. “I don’t suppose it makes much matter to you and the others who you kill, so long as you get what you came here to steal.”

  “ _That_ would be wrong, burned man,” Edar replied, once again wincing as he shifted about on the grass. “If you had all been merchants, then not only would my friends be getting richer, but I would be getting closer to my goal.”

  “What goal?” the leader of the caravan asked.

  “Since I do not mind the world learning about my enmity with that worm, I shall answer you truthfully. I ordered the attack upon your caravan because I believed that by attacking caravan after caravan of merchants trying to make their way from Norvos to Braavos, I would be able to provoke my enemy into leading a party to put an end to my provocations, but not before my blade killed him first!”

  Sandor started to laugh as the leader replied, “Stupid little shit. You are going to get your heart’s desire by that piece of information you just gave us. Tell us who is your enemy and we will send you to him, bound as our prisoner, and we’ll collect the gold your head is worth.”

  It was Hagen Edar’s turn to laugh. He did so as openly as he could, and then replied, “I doubt that the honourable worm would pay you a quarter of the gold you think I’m worth. He wouldn’t bear to have his bloody honor tainted by having his city learn about his transactions with the likes of you and me.”

  Sansa started to grow uneasy as he revealed more and more clues about the identity of his enemy. The funny feeling in her tummy increased when Edar added, “Trust me, peasants. The High Magister is not going to pay you as handsomely as he has promised. I know Arman Nervere enough to be sure of that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all had a great beautiful Christmas with your loved ones. Now the time has come to wish you all a Happy fantastic New Year, and I wish for you all tons of blessing on 2013!! I thank you very much for reading my story, and I will keep my fingers crossed you all like what’s going to happen to these two now :D


	28. The Old Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt's, Dante's Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> *The betas behind this fic who make it possible are: onborrowedwings, nysandra & swiftsnowmane! :D I owe them so much!  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

  Sansa stopped breathing for a moment, and quickly looked up at Sandor after hearing Hagen Edar speak that dreadful name that sent a chill down her back. _Gods, must that man’s memory haunt us wherever we go?_ After quickly recovering from the surprise of hearing Magister Nervere’s name again in this beautiful but desolate place, she found that she was glad Hagen Edar was Arman’s foe and not his friend.

  But the fact that the outlaw was not fond of Arman did not mean the people of the caravan shared his view. They had all left Norvos on the day she exposed Arman’s true nature to his city, but by the talk she’d overheard at times, none of them had attended the trial. And none of them knew he was dead, or that Sandor had killed him. _Best if they never find out about all that_.

  Sandor had not returned Sansa’s look. His eyes never left Edar’s face, as he closely considered him with an expression that revealed nothing. So Sansa returned her gaze to the bandit, sprawled on the floor with his arm in a sling, and his nose broken.

  “You want to kill Arman Nervere?” Sandor finally rasped, with a snort.

  Hagen’s dark eyes settled on Sandor, and narrowed. “I do. I swore it to myself never to rest until–”

  “You can rest now. Arman Nervere is dead.”

  A surprised gasp was made by their fellow travelers gathered around the outlaw, everyone from the old women tending to Hagen to the leader of the caravan shocked by the news. But the one to react more strongly to the news was Edar himself. He blinked, and gasped loudly, forgetting he had a broken rib as he tried to hastily sit up, only to end up coughing at the pain the sudden movement caused. He laid his back on the grass again, and moaned, repeating, “What? No, no, he can’t be! Surely this is a jest! Explain yourself, burned man.”

  “Are you sure? How did it happen, Byan?” the leader asked Sandor. “The High Magister, I–I can’t believe it!”

  Sandor fixed his grey eyes one more time on Hagen Edar before he returned his attention to the leader of the caravan, and said in a voice that suggested he did not care what his words conveyed, “I don’t know the details, but we saw him die from afar at some square the day we left Norvos. We were preoccupied on reaching you lot, so we never found out more about it.”

  “Did you see his body?” Edar asked, starting to shake on the ground. Now that the sun was rising, it was hard to ignore the black eye Stranger had given him.

  “Aye. We saw him fall from afar,” Sandor replied, shrugging carelessly.

  Sansa had been keeping her eyes fixed on the ground, afraid that her face would betray her if she met someone’s stare as Sandor talked. _I hope they believe Sandor, or else they may decide to turn back to Norvos to see if all hope of ransoming Edar is lost_. She shouldn’t have worried. No one was really paying her any mind. The news of Arman’s death was accepted quickly among the caravan, for another person took hold of their attention.

  Hagen Edar, the moment Sandor admitted seeing Arman die, had let out a desperate cry of “No!” so loud that even some of the birds on the trees were startled at the sound and took flight. He was shaking as much as his broken arm and rib would allow him, muttering to himself, “Oh, Sinan. Forgive me. I am so, _so_ sorry. I failed you, my love. I promised to avenge you, but justice has been taken from my hands.”

  No one moved. No one breathed. They all stared at the outlaw, who appeared to be talking to someone he alone could see as tears slid down his face, making Sansa understand why people called him mad. She knew it was rude to stare, but she could not seem to be able to look away. _What could Arman have possibly done to earn this man’s enmity?_ Sandor meanwhile was also staring at the man with a raised eyebrow, and his mouth was pursed in dislike.

  “Well,” the leader of the caravan finally exclaimed with a polite cough, recovering from the spectacle. “We have to get moving. We’ve already delayed too much on Edar’s account. Lads, put him on a wagon and look after him. I’ll think about what we can do with him today. Since Magister Nervere is dead, there is no point in returning to Norvos and asking him for ransom.”

  Sansa breathed in relief, thanking the old gods and the new for this mercy. The travelers started to return to the places where they had settled for the night, to gather their belongings. The leader stepped closer to Sandor while five men tried to pick the outlaw to take him with a wagon, and said, “I think it’s best if we have a meeting when we’ve settled tonight. We would be glad to have your voice in our council, Byan.”

  Sandor nodded, as they heard the sobs of Edar wrenching the morning air, and laid a hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “Come, little bird,” he said.

  Sansa led the way, trying to ignore the sound of the bandit’s cries. _It sounds as if we were torturing him._ They went back to the place where their bedrolls rested, and attached them to their respective saddles. The horses and the tree gave them some privacy, so without a word Sandor drew Sansa into an embrace. She buried her face on his chest, taking in his male scent. Everything about him appealed to each and every one of her senses.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her, stroking her hair.

  Sansa looked up at him, attempting a smile. “Yes, of course. It’s just–what do you think happened to provoke such a reaction from Edar? He seems to really hate Arman.”

  Sandor’s mouth began to twitch as he spared a look in Hagen’s direction. “I can’t blame him for that. The sheep was an annoying little piece of shit, little bird. But I gather it must have something to do with the woman Edar was talking to. He is out of his mind.”

  “Do you think he could be a threat to us?” she asked him, resting her hands on his chest. Sandor considered her question for a moment.

  “Truthfully?” he said. “Not really. The man clearly wanted to kill Arman himself. So he can’t give trouble to us for going against Nervere. Yet I don’t think he should know that I was the one to kill the High Sheep.”

  “I agree. He was very disappointed to learn he would not be killing Arman himself. I think it prudent to keep up the story that you said back there. We saw the ordeal by combat from afar, but never even learned whom Arman was fighting with. No one in the caravan seems to have attended the trial, or they would have recognized us.”

  They fell silent for a moment, lowering their gazes, as they recalled everything that had happened before Hagen Edar’s band of outlaws attacked the caravan. _He loves me, and I him_. Sansa smiled, her dimples appearing on her cheeks; she saw that Sandor was thinking along the same lines as she was, for he cupped her under the jaw, raising her chin.

  “Sansa,” he whispered, before he leaned down and kissed her once again quickly, his free hand resting on her waist. Sansa tried to stand on tip-toe to better reach him, returning his kiss lovingly. When they broke apart they looked around them, but no one seemed to have seen them. Sandor threw back his head and laughed upon seeing the color on her cheeks, and Sansa giggled in return.

  The rest of the day passed by just as all the previous ones had. A long day of riding spent mostly in silence. Sandor and Sansa could hear people around them still discussing the outlaws’ attack, but they were content in simply sharing the comforting warmth of the other as they rode Stranger, at times touching each other unconsciously in small gestures of affection.

  When the caravan stopped for half an hour beside a well, Sansa went up to talk to the woman who had recently lost her abusive husband, and asked her if she would like to share some bread and apples and cheese with her. She’d told Sandor that it was best if she befriended the woman alone, and he’d agreed. She knew he didn’t really care much about the woman, but when the widow returned her smile and accepted, Sansa felt content.

  Before midday, the caravan’s prisoner had finally stopped crying, yet when the tears stopped an utter silence descended upon Edar, and nothing anyone said or did would make him talk. He didn’t eat the food they offered him, nor drink the water or wine either. Hagen only sat on the wagon, so still that Sansa even forgot he was there once. His eyes were swollen due to all the tears he’d shed, and when a man a little older than her asked the bandit if he wasn’t afraid that he could be hanged tonight, Edar didn’t respond. In fact, Sansa wasn’t even sure that Hagen had heard the young man.

  That night, after they’d settled down and tied a silent unresisting Hagen to one of the wheels of the wagon, the leaders of the caravan gathered around a fire to discuss their captive’s fate. Sandor had been invited to join them, but not Sansa. Yet when they took their seat on the fire in silence, no one objected to her presence there.

  The first to speak was the leader. “So, friends, what shall we do with our fabled outlaw?”

  “We can interrogate him about his knowledge on where other outlaw bands can be hiding, and shun those places like Byan Storm said,” one man answered.

  “But do you think he will betray his friends? Why, we may not even be able to make him say a single word if he persists in that dreary silence of his,” another man exclaimed.

  “What do you think Magister Nervere did to him to have his death affect him so?” everyone started to ask each other eagerly, as if they hadn’t just spent the whole day talking about that.

  “He’ll tell us where the outlaws are hiding,” Sandor rasped, his voice steel on stone. Everyone turned to listen to him. “His bloody friends left him at my horse’s mercy. They won’t be coming back, since they probably think he died because of Stranger. I am willing to bet Edar won’t mind telling us. Even if he is fond of his friends, the fact that he tells us about them doesn’t mean we can do much about it. At least not for the present. Had we been a caravan of merchants, then perhaps Edar would’ve slit his throat by now before revealing a thing.”

  The leader stared at Sandor silently for a long moment, his hands entwined beneath his jaw. “Are you telling us that we should do nothing? Continue as we are, and wait for Edar to feel inclined to speak to us again?”

  Sandor shrugged. “He is your captive. You can hang him or drown him or fuck him for all I care. But I’d wait a few days and see if he feels inclined to start talking. If he doesn’t, we’ll see what we can do with him then.”

  “So no one will ransom him now that Nervere is dead?” the youngest of the leaders asked out loud.

  “I don’t know,” the leader replied. “It doesn’t seem likely.”

  There were cries of anger at that, which left Sansa in no doubt that had the caravan been able to choose between having Hagen Edar as another mouth to feed, or having the ransom his head could claim, they would all have chosen the latter.

  One day later, Hagen Edar finally started drinking again. The following day he accepted the food that was offered to him, and by the third day he was talking once again. And once he started he never stopped. When they asked him about where the other outlaw bands could be hiding, he told them everything he knew about that, and even promised in Sinan’s memory to be speaking the truth.

  “I was the leader of the biggest band in these parts. The others are comprised of between four to ten members. Yet word travels quickly among us. The other bands will have heard by now how that horrible black beast killed me, and they will think twice before they face the whole lot of you. No, I don’t think I’ll ever see my friends again, rest assured.”

  Sansa wasn’t very convinced by Hagen’s words. Yet the travelers apparently thought it best to earn Hagen’s friendship, so that in case the other bandits did attack them, Edar could perhaps speak to spare them all if the caravan lost. But they shouldn’t have worried. No more bands of outlaws attacked them again. 

  In the fortnight that followed, Hagen Edar won the caravan’s trust. Sandor kept an eye on the outlaw’s moves and told Sansa that he would first start telling their fellow travelers tales from his past to impress them, and surely enough that is how he began to earn back his freedom. By the time they were about to reach the Shivering Sea, Hagen Edar was no longer bound to the wagon as a captive. He was not given a horse to ride, nor was his sword returned to him, but he nonetheless had the freedom to do whatever he wanted.

  Sansa also tried to pay close attention to Edar’s actions, and concluded that the man was basically a sane madman. He was mad because some of the things he said and did could only be called that, and because no reasonable person would’ve ever thought of taming Stranger when the horse had just proven how ferocious he was. Yet Sansa could not help but admit that there was also honor in the hardened bandit.

  He would always accept the invitations to share a fire and some dinner at nights, and in those moments he confessed to them all that he had once been a nobleman of Lorath who had been raised since childhood in Norvos. He’d grown up to become a powerful merchant himself, who was respected and much loved by his friends and customers. Yet one day he ran afoul of Arman Nervere and was exiled from Great Norvos forever.

  When a young woman asked him why he had been exiled, the man looked at her with surprise, and started to lose himself in memories, staring at the fire as he fell silent. This, they all quickly learned, was a habit of his, and so they restrained their eager curiosity for a while and asked no more about what had happened to him in Norvos. The travelers turned their attention to his life as an outlaw, and ended up cheering him for only attacking merchant caravans, and not poor ones like theirs.

  “We were always honest about what we were about,” Hagen once said, biting a chunk of hard black bread with his teeth. “No poor folk. No peasants or small parties of families. Only merchants, and only out of Norvos or heading to the city. In the end, I think we attacked around ten and seven caravans. We spent the gold in whatever we liked, and gave the silver to the peasants living in these hills. The only thing I regret is that Nervere never came to meet us. May that bastard’s soul burn forever!”

  Upon hearing that, Sandor cast an approving look at Edar’s back, which only had Sansa sighing. She didn’t like to hear Arman’s name so often. _We left that part of our lives behind_.

  At long last there came a day when Sansa smelled salt in the air, the first sign of the caravan having reached the frozen shores of the Shivering Sea. She had been ridding Nan, a little tired even if by now her soft thighs had toughened, when she turned to look at Sandor, a relieved smile on her face.

  The caravan settled between a small stream and the foot of a small hill by evening, with the sun low in the west. Sansa was warming her hands in front of the fire Sandor had lit up earlier to keep away dusk’s chill, waiting for him to come back from asking the leader of the caravan what towns were nearby. They were planning on leaving the caravan tomorrow or the next day, as soon as they saw a village where they could settle for a little while till they had enough coin to buy them a passage aboard a ship.

  The leader of the caravan had told them that the only ships that sailed the waters of Lorath Bay were those that came from the island of Lorath, and no others. The Lorathi were poor sailors, and only sailed towards the bay named in their honour, or to Braavos. That left Sandor and Sansa with no other option but to go to Lorath next, and from there take a ship to Braavos. _And from there one to White Harbour and home_. Sansa felt a funny fluttering on her tummy whenever she thought of her home. _I’ve waited for months and months to reach the North. If the gods see fit to make me wait a little while longer, I can’t complain. Not after Sandor and I confessed to each other how we feel_.

  Their relationship was still the same in the sense that they could find no privacy in the caravan. Yet the past couple of weeks knowing that they loved one another had been more beautiful to Sansa than any day she’d spent in Norvos or Pentos. She felt complete, and she only had to glance at Sandor to feel a smile appearing on her face; a smile that would reassure him that he still had her love, and when he would return her smile with a grin, she would find herself unable to restrain herself, giving him a quick kiss.

  After finishing their supper by the fire, Sansa ventured with a low voice in case someone overheard, “Sandor, what sort of work do you mean to find in Lorath Bay?”

  Sandor cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand, “It will most likely be peasant’s work, little bird. I don’t think any service at the household of some merchant could be found hereabouts. Maybe some peasant will need to have someone cutting his lumber to help him build something. Yet it could take a while. The peasant won’t have much to spare. We’ll live at an inn in the meantime.”

  “What if there isn’t any work, or if it takes you forever to earn enough?” she insisted, placing her hand on his knee, worried. “I was thinking that if you can’t find any work, I could sell my remaining jewels instead. I still have my moonstone earrings and necklace. Surely that would get us a passage for four on a ship?”

“Little bird,” he hissed, scowling, “how many times–I don’t want you to sell your jewels. They are the only thing in this world that you have till we reach your family again, and I don’t–”

  Sansa couldn’t help but snort. It wasn’t very ladylike, but this was so silly. Sandor stopped talking as she knelt beside him, and taking one of his hands in both of hers, she said, “They are not the only thing I have, Sandor. I have you and I trust you know that you are more precious to me than any jewels I’ve ever had, or the crown I would’ve once worn. So long as we have each other, I don’t care if we have to live for a while with that peasant you will be working with.”

  Sandor’s eyes had widened, and he gulped as she brought his hand to her mouth and gave it a kiss, before brushing her cheek against it. She closed her eyes as Sandor hoarsely whispered her name, but then a polite coughing nearby caught both their attention. 

  They turned their heads to see no other than Hagen Edar staring at them as he stood before their fire, his merry bright dark eyes crinkling with crowfeet as he said, “I am so sorry for interrupting, but I was wondering if I could join you?”

  Sansa blinked, a little startled. Knowing Sandor, she quickly stood up and said, “Yes, of course. I–I do not believe we have been properly introduced. I’m Jeyne and this is Byan, but I believe you two have already met,” Sansa said, noticing that Hagen’s arm was still on a sling, but at least the black eye Stranger had given him was fading, and his crooked nose looked a bit improved since the last time she’d seen him up-close.

  Hagen nodded at her respectfully before offering her his hand. Sansa stared at it with a frown, since it was a rare sight when a man would offer a woman his hand to shake. Nonetheless she took it and returned the bandit’s smile as he replied, “Yes, I remarked to Byan the other day that his hell-horse was quite a magnificent beast. I don’t bear it any ill feelings for what it did to me. After all, they’ve told me that he was the one to convince the others that they shouldn’t hang me when they first caught me. It is a pleasure to meet you, Jeyne.”

  Sansa chanced a glance at Sandor, who gave her a look that clearly dared her to disagree with his previous comments on the outlaw. About a week ago, when Hagen was able to walk again, Sandor had told Sansa that Edar was bloody mad in truth. Apparently, Edar had started talking to Sandor out of the blue one day about Stranger, complimenting the warhorse for his temper even as Hagen showed Sandor all the bruises the black destrier had left him on his arms and legs. Sansa had asked Sandor what he thought of the man, and Sandor had answered that he wasn’t so bad for an outlaw. _Yet he’s never talked to me. I wonder what he wants_.

  “Have you come to say hello to Stranger?” Sandor sneered. “I can bring him here for you to tell him face to face how much you admire him. I trained him well. He won’t break your other arm _if_ I restrain him.”

  A bit of colour seemed to drain from Edar’s face. “No, please, don’t. I–I didn’t come here to talk about him.”

  Sansa recalled her courtesies and said, “Please, won’t you seat down? I’m afraid we’ve already finished our dinner, but if you want some wine, Byan still has half a skin beside him he will be willing to share.”

  Sandor threw her an affronted look, but just as she was trying to suppress her laugh, Hagen sat down on the ground and replied, “No, thank you. I’ve already had dinner. The family five fires to the right were kind enough to feed me tonight.”

  “Oh,” Sansa replied, sitting down beside Sandor. “How nice of them.”

  “Yes, they _are_ good. I feel sorry for having attacked them. When I was rich, before I was exiled from Norvos, I was never half as good as them. Yet now that I’m a beggar I find peasants sustaining me. One day I hope I can repay them.”

  Sansa agreed with him; she had found that sometimes smallfolk were usually good honest kind people, but she doubted that this was what Edar wanted to talk to her and Sandor about. Still, hearing so much about him over the past weeks had left her curious about him. She had never met an outlaw, and the deeds the caravan told of him reminded her of the stories Old Nan had told her and her siblings about the Kingswood Brotherhood.

  “I bet you do,” Sandor said, considering the outlaw before him.

  “I’m sorry, but I was wondering if I could ask you a question?” Sansa asked.

  “Of course,” Edar answered, sitting cross-legged on the grass. “Fire away, Jeyne.”

  “Why do they say you wear only black?” She’d been curious about this, even going so far as to being willing to consider Hagen to be in truth a deserter of the Night’s Watch. _I wonder how Jon is faring at the Wall_.

  Hagen’s smile disappeared, and he quickly met her eyes with a hard stare. Sansa was about to apologize when he answered, “I wear only black because it is one of the best ways to avoid being seen at night when you are about to raid a caravan, Jeyne. But that’s just a cover. In truth, I only wear black as a sign of mourning for my wife, Sinan.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she told him truthfully after a moment, lowering her gaze.

  Edar sniffed, and shook his head after he’d stared at the setting sun for a moment, his hand toying with the black skull necklace around his neck. “Thank you.”

  Sandor patted Sansa’s hand just as the bandit said in a merrier tone, “You know, talking about dressing up, I must give you a word of advice, girl. You should really start dressing up like a boy. Wear breeches and the like. One of my friends may have taken you had we seen you as we attacked the caravan. But with the cover of darkness, it would have been easier for you to hide or be considered as a lad and be left alone if you–”

  Sansa opened her mouth, a bit startled by the change in the conversation. Sandor rasped in interruption, “You and your lot could’ve tried, but you would have earned a blade stuck in your guts for all your trouble.”

  It didn’t sound exactly like a threat, more like a fact, but Hagen nonetheless stopped talking, regarding Sandor silently.

  “I do not like the thought of dressing like a boy,” Sansa put in, now recalling Arya and the way her little sister would’ve rolled her eyes at her if she’d heard her. “I find dresses very comfortable.”

  “You would find it easier to ride and such with a pair of breeches, trust me,” Edar insisted.

  “I don’t trust you one bit,” she admitted, making Sandor snort.

  “That’s a shame, seeing as I was planning to bring up an offer to you two.”

  Silence greeted his words. Sansa gulped, shifting uncomfortably on her place on the ground; Sandor narrowed his eyes at Edar. He flexed his sword hand before saying, “And what offer would that be?”

  “Well,” replied Hagen, running a hand through his yellow hair. “Now that my enemy is dead, and I am exiled from Norvos, I think it would be best if I returned home to Lorath, you see. I still have some family there, my sibling Bryar among them. But as I was saying a moment ago, I am quite penniless. I have no means to go home–”

  “But you are the caravan’s hostage. Surely you can’t expect to be allowed to–” Sansa began before the outlaw interrupted her. “I have talked to the leader and made him see sense. There is nothing he can do with me now. The worm who asked for my head is dead, and the leader doesn’t have the heart to kill me. He isn’t a cruel fellow really, so he agreed to let me go. And he was the one to tell me that you two are meaning to leave the caravan now that we’ve left the Hills of Andalos behind, and I wanted to ask you folks if you wouldn’t mind it if I tag along with you till we reach Lorath.”

  “Fuck” Sandor growled, clearly incredulous. “And do you think we would agree to that?”

  “Well,” said Hagen, surprised. “The leader of the caravan said that you were heading to Lorath, and I want to go home, so I don’t see why you would object to it. I would work to pay for my own passage, and–”

  “It makes no matter if you’re heading to the same place as we are,” Sandor said, shrugging. “You are not coming with us.”

  Hagen’s lip trembled. “But why not, burned man? I am amusing company, and I would repay you both handsomely. Once you get to Lorath, you won’t know your way around it, but I do. I remember it as if I had only seen it yesterday. I could help you with whatever you needed there, or tell Bryar to help with what I can’t.”

  Sansa saw Sandor’s hand reach for the pommel of his longsword for a moment, but then he said, “Bugger off.”

  Hagen Edar opened his mouth to speak, but he must have heard something in Sandor’s voice that made him stand up and say, “Well, it’s getting late. I must leave you to your rest and to consider my offer. Good night, friends. See you tomorrow.”

  When he was gone, Sansa couldn’t help but remark, “What a strange man he is!”

  “Told you he was out of his wits. Bloody idiot.”

  “Do you think he means it when he said he could help us once we reach Lorath?” she asked Sandor, looking up at him.

  “Might be. Could be. I guess that if he is speaking the truth, it would be good for us. But we would have to stand him for longer than I care to.”

  Sansa laughed. “Before we even get aboard a ship, we will have had enough time to observe him and see if he is really honest and means to keep his word. But I am still not quite certain. Do you think he will follow us once we leave the caravan?”

  Sandor sighed. “Aye, he will. I’ve known his sort before. He’ll follow us at a distance, and show himself when he thinks we least expect him.”

  All of a sudden, a new thought came to Sansa. “Sandor, you–you don’t want him to come along so that you can learn what happened between him and Arman, do you? Because I thought all of that was past. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  He shifted uncomfortably on his place on the ground, and said defiantly, “I’m just curious to know what that buggering sheep could’ve done to him. But I won’t give us away, I promise.”

  Sansa was about to protest when a cold wind suddenly made her shiver, and she hugged herself. Sandor saw her and wrapped his wide muscled arms around her, hugging her warmly. Sansa knew that the Shivering Sea had not been named like that just for fancy, and was certain that once they reached the coast the weather would only get colder and colder. 

  “Try to get some rest, little bird,” Sandor whispered in her ear, and she did in the end.

  The following day, some hours after midday, Sansa and Sandor thanked everyone they knew in the caravan for their help and bid them farewell. Sansa was sorry to see some of them go, for she had become friends of a sort with a few, like the widow of that horrible abusive man, but after reaching the frozen shores of the Shivering Sea, she knew the time had come to depart.

  The leader of the caravan told her and Sandor that there was a village called Munne a short distance to the east if they walked for a couple of hours. It wasn’t a very large or prosperous place, but maybe someone needed a hand with fishing or building. When they departed the caravan, neither Sandor nor Sansa were surprised to see Hagen Edar discreetly joining them. The outlaw smiled at them expectantly, but when Sandor dragged him against a tree and warned him that he was not going to stand any of his shit, Hagen paled again and nodded, promising Sandor that he would not bring them trouble.

  He started whistling happily beside them, and settled as far away from Stranger as he could manage. Edar had no horse to ride himself, but since Nan and Stranger were walking at an easy pace, he had no trouble keeping up with them. Near dusk they finally came upon the ocean, and Sansa smiled. The village of Munne could be seen at a distance, and though it wasn’t a very nice sight, Sansa’s heart rose as she imagined some hot dinner, a warm bath and a bed.

  The landscape was desolate and bleak, with a dark blue sea and grey shores, sea gulls cried out loud up in the darkening sky, and there was smoke coming up from the chimneys of the town, and that was all that mattered. _If there ever was a dismal forsaken place in this world, then surely this must be it_ , she thought, gazing all around her. Sandor asked Edar what he had heard of Munne, and the bandit simply shrugged and said, “Nothing of consequence. Nothing ever happens here.”

  Sandor spurred Stranger on and Sansa followed, with their new companion bringing up the rear. When they had finally reached the village’s gates, Sansa saw some fishermen hauling nets full of wriggling fish from their boats at a distance, and even if thunder was heard up in the heavens at that moment, warning them all of rain, the men remained where they were. 

  Sansa saw Sandor staring at the fishermen with a strange look on his burned face, making Sansa wonder if that is what he would have to do to earn them their passage on the ship that would take them to Lorath. 

  “What do you want here?” an ill-looking short guard asked Sandor once they had asked to enter the town.

  “We’re looking for any work that we can find,” Sandor spat, jerking his head at Hagen.

  The guard considered them all for a moment before saying, “There isn’t much work to be found here. But if you head to the _Stinking Fish_ , maybe you can learn of one. It’s down the main street to the right. You can’t miss it.”

  Sandor nodded and dismounted from Stranger. He helped Sansa get off Nan. Sansa took her mare’s reins as Sandor did the same with Stranger’s, entering Munne without a backward glance at Edar to see if he was following. A light rain descended on them just then, making Sandor hurry to reach a roof after he threw Sansa a worried look.

  Once they reached the _Stinking Fish,_ Edar went inside while Sandor took Stranger and Nan to the little old stable that looked as if it would fall apart with the first strong wind to shake it. After threatening the man who was tending to the stables, Sandor unsaddled Stranger and Nan, carrying each saddle under his arms.

  “Come, let’s get inside. Don’t want you to catch a cold,” Sandor said, entering the inn. The place was quite dirty, yet it was the only diversion that the people of Munne could find, so it was nearly full even at this early hour. _Now I know why it’s called the Stinking Fish_. Almost everyone in the room looked to be sailor, and they all smelled like fish, making Sansa feel dizzy. Sansa saw through the dim light two serving women that looked like mother and daughter handing out tankards and plates while the men sitting on stools started singing a sailor’s song. The innkeeper knew at once what they wanted, and coming up to them asked, “Will you want rooms? The man with the broken nose said you wish for two.”

  Sandor laughed. “No. We’ll need one room. That man can sleep on the barn for all I care.”

  “I’m sorry, but we have no barn.”

  “Well,” snarled Sandor. “He can sleep where he likes, but I’ll only pay you for one room.”

  The innkeeper eyed Sansa and shrugged. “All right, one. The thing is, the previous guest is just leaving, so his belongings are still on the guests’ room. Would you mind waiting for half an hour so the wife can clean up the place?”

  Sandor didn’t look like he was pleased with that, but Sansa answered, “It’s all right. We’ll wait. Would you send some food for us? We’re very hungry.”

  “Aye, I will. There’s stew and ale. Two plates?”

  Sansa was sure that Sandor wouldn’t be inclined to pay for Hagen’s food, so she was pleasantly surprised when Sandor rasped that he wanted three plates. “Don’t you have any wine?” he also asked.

  “No. Just ale,” the innkeeper replied, and walked away.

  Sandor and Sansa made their way to the table Edar was waiting for them, his face hidden in his arms.

  “I hate that song,” he said once they reached him and settled in their stools. “Reminds me of a cousin of mine.”

  They were mostly quiet till their food arrived, since the long tiring days on the road had left them all exhausted. As Sansa was finishing her greasy stew and wondering if their room was finally unoccupied, she decided that living in this gods-forsaken little village was not going to be a very pleasant affair. _What else can we do? I doubt the next town will be different to this one_.

  “Your room is now ready,” the innkeeper told them, suddenly appearing by their side.

  “Do you know if there is work to be found here?” Sandor rasped, before the man could move away.

  “Work? For you?”

  “Yes, and for this bugger too,” Sandor replied, looking at Edar, who was staring daggers at the loud singers standing at a corner of the room.

  “I don’t think there is,” the innkeeper answered, scratching the top of his bald head. “I haven’t heard of any. But if you wait here I’ll go and see if you are in luck.”

  When he walked away from their table, Sansa said in the Common Tongue, “If there isn’t any work, maybe we can do as I told you. I’ll sell my jewels and we can head straight to Lorath.”

  Sandor chuckled. “And are you going to pay for Hagen’s passage too?”

  Sansa sighed, sparing a look at Edar, now readjusting the sling on his arm and didn’t answer his question. Instead, she said, “I’m so tired. I wish we could just go to sleep right now and wake up a week later.”

  Sandor laughed, ruffling her hair unconsciously. “I thought you didn’t want to stay here, and now you want to sleep here for a week?”

  “What are you talking about?” Edar asked them.

  “Nothing to concern you,” Sandor replied in Valyrian, taking a drink of ale from his tankard. Sansa had asked for water instead, disliking the taste of ale, and had offered her own tankard to the outlaw.

  “Oh, at last!” Edar suddenly exclaimed, clapping his hands. “They’re leaving.”

  Sansa turned her head around and saw the group of singing sailors exiting the inn. Now that they were gone, the place didn’t look quite so crowded as before. She was about to tell Sandor if she could ask for a bath tonight when a man stepped in front of their table, and stared at Sansa for a moment.

  This man looked to be in his fifties, yet his arms and chest looked as strong as those of a man twenty years younger. He had dark hair, dark eyes and a dark hairy moustache, and a kindly look about him.

  “What do you want?” Sandor asked, resting his hand near his sword.

  “The old man told me you were looking for a job,” the stranger replied, turning his gaze on Sandor.

  “Yes, me and him,” Sandor replied, grudgingly letting go of his blade. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I guess that a couple more hands would come in handy, but it’s actually the young woman here whom we need. Can she read Valyrian?”

  Sansa stared at the man, startled. She looked at Sandor, who looked just as surprised as she did, and replied, “I can. Why are you looking for someone to read Valyrian?”

  “Oh, no, Barli!” the youngest of the two serving woman said. She had been walking beside their table when she apparently overheard their conversation. She looked at Sansa with worried eyes, and continued. “You can’t be thinking of taking her to that old scarecrow!”

  “What the bloody hell is going on? What scarecrow, and why do you care if she can read Valyrian or not?” Sandor growled.

  “Your cousin left us three days ago, missy. So unless you have another one, I suggest you to go on about your business and let me find a replacement,” the stranger called Barli replied, frowning at the girl.

  “But look at her, Barli! The old man will scare the wits out of her.”

  “What are you all talking about?” Hagen put in, looking puzzled.

  The young serving woman went away, shaking her head, without another word. Barli looked at Sandor and said, “I apologize. Please, would you let me sit down and I can explain what the job consists of?”

  Sandor didn’t seem inclined to agree, but something in Barli’s voice made Sansa feel certain that this stranger wasn’t a bad man. _And we lose nothing by finding out what he is talking about_ , she thought, rather curious. So she said, “Yes, do sit down.”

  Barli thanked her with a smile and grabbed a stool from the table next to theirs. He sat down, and with his hands crossed before him said, “You see, my wife and I work up at the old castle. We alone pretty much sum up Hrolf’s household. Hrolf is the one you would be reading to, lassie. What’s your name?”

  “Jeyne, and these is Byan and Hagen.”

  Barli nodded his head at Sandor and Edar in turn. “You see, old Hrolf, he–he is an old man, and many don’t like him, really. He isn’t bad, but he was never the same after–after the shipwreck. His daughter died in it just as she was coming home from Braavos, and… well, it hit Hrolf hard. He loved her very much. Some years after her death, he got it into his head to ask for some girl from the village to go read to him. His daughter used to do that, and I gather it reminds Hrolf of her. The thing is, in the past year we’ve had to dismiss about twenty girls. No one will stay for long because they don’t like the master. He is a bit rude and hard to handle, so I won’t tell you the job is a nice one. If you don’t like it, I can accompany you to the next village. I was going there myself in search of a young woman since I’ve already asked everyone in Munne, but if you agree to try it out for a week or so, you may have spared me a long trip on the rain, Jeyne.”

  Sansa was frowning, looking at Barli, considering her and Sandor’s options. It was sad that Barli’s master had lost his child and was not trying to remember her by having people read to him, but Sansa wasn’t prepared to stand an old man yelling at her for displeasing him.

  “How much would you be willing to pay me for this?” she asked, making Sandor arched his eyebrow at her approvingly.

  “Ten silver coins a week. Hrolf is rich, you see, so he can spare it. And you would be staying at the castle, so I can promise you shelter, a warm fire, food and rest for your horses.”

  “What about us?” Edar asked, interrupting. “Do you have work for me and Byan?”

  “I guess you could help me out with the sheep and other such tasks. We live in a castle but with only three people living there, we don’t use all the rooms and there isn’t much to do. I don’t know how much the master would be willing to pay you, though. We could ask him tomorrow when you meet him.”

  “Little bird,” said Sandor in the Common Tongue, looking at her. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

  Sansa smiled at her big man. “It’s a tempting offer. We can’t lose really. If I don’t like this man, then we can go away after a week with some coin, and if I do, we would only have to stay at the old castle for a month or so. With what they pay us both, surely it wouldn’t be long before we had enough to buy passage on some ship.”

  Sandor looked at her face intently, considering hers and Barli’s words, and finally gave a short nod, with an amused expression. He turned to look at Barli and said, “If there’s wine as well, we’ll do it.”

  Barli looked quite relieved that he had managed to get a girl to read to his master so close to home, while Hagen shrugged and said, “If it can get me home in time, I’ll do it.”

  “I take it you didn’t like the _Fish’s_ ale, did you?” Barli asked Sandor. “I don’t like it either. But to answer your question, yes, there’s wine. The cellars are filled with unopened casks. We should better be heading home now, then.”

  They stood up, and as Sandor went to pay the innkeeper for their food and tell him they would not need his room, Sansa smiled and looked at the floor, content. _I hope the old man isn’t as bad as that serving woman seemed to think_.

  Once they had saddled Nan and Stranger again, they all followed Barli out of the town of Munne, while Sandor remarked that is was good the rain had stopped as they were inside _The Stinking Fish_ inn. Night had fallen, and there was an iron moon tonight, and to Sansa it was a lovely thing. She didn’t know why she was suddenly feeling better, but she was. The thought of resting in a castle instead of at that inn was a good start.

  As they left the town, Barli started to talk to them about life at the old castle. “You’ll probably read to the master in the morning. And after that, you can do whatever you like. My wife can manage pretty much everything else by herself, but if you would like to help her in the kitchens or with the washing, we’ll pay you for that as well.”

  Before long they finally caught their first look of the castle and its dark menacing towers. It looked to be the size of Maegor’s Holdfast, and it rested on the edge of a rocky cliff, overlooking the sea. _It looks so grim_ , Sansa thought sadly. There were few lights to be seen inside, confirming that few people were living in it at the moment.

  Once they finally reached its gates and Barli had unlocked them, they turned away from the main entrance to a sideway roofless corridor that led to a rain-scoured stone courtyard beside a large stable housing three horses. Sandor and Sansa tied Nan and Stranger inside, attaching the sack of oats to their stalls so they could eat whenever they liked, and covering them up with their blankets. Sansa was sorry to see her shoes getting mud on them due to the grim earth on the stable as she patted Nan on the head.

  A fat comely woman appeared in a doorway beside a large stone well, cleaning her hands on her apron, and exclaimed by way of greeting, “My, my, well this is a surprise. The old man sends you for a girl and you come back with two dubious looking fellows and a pretty maid, Barli!”

  “I know, dear, but the girl would only come if her friends could stay too. This is my wife Merra, by the way.”

  Merra nodded her head at them and went on, “Ah, well. We’ll see how this one fares tomorrow morning. Come in, the night is chilly. Have you had dinner?”

  “Yes,” Sansa replied, standing close to Sandor. “At the inn in the town.”

  “ _The_ _Stinking Fish’s_ famous stinking stew, I bet. That is no proper dinner. Come, I was just about to have supper myself. We’ll all eat while you and your friends take turns and bathe. We can’t let you catch a cold. The master doesn’t like people sneezing around him.”

  Sansa was starting to feel unsure about meeting the old master of the castle, but she said nothing of her fears. They were here now and had nowhere better to go back to.

  “Has he gone to sleep already?” Barli asked his wife as they all stepped in into a grand well-designed kitchen, making Sansa suspect that this dreary castle wasn’t always so grim. _There must have been laughter and balls here once_. Judging by her surroundings, she was certain that the old man must be either a rich merchant or a nobleman. 

  There was a very pleasant smell coming out of the oven, and Merra ushered them to take a seat on the large wooden table at a corner of the kitchen as if she was a mother duck and they were her ducklings; Sansa caught sight of Sandor’s affronted face and giggled. She sat beside him and took his hand under the table. Sandor squeezed it, and started to caress the length of her fingers with his knuckle as he’d seen she liked very much.

  “There’s smoked fish and apple cakes tonight,” Merra said, as she headed over to take out plates from one of the many pantries to be found at the kitchen.

  “Your husband said something about there being wine,” Sandor told the woman.

  “Barli, go and bring a bottle from the cellar for us, and after that go and prepare two rooms on the north wing. Build fires in the hearths, please.”

  Barli grunted that he didn’t want to do so, but his wife paid him no heed, as she started serving them their share of the supper. Barli went away with an offended grunt. It turned out that Merra was an excellent cook, and Sansa could really find no fault with anything she tasted that night. _If we stay here maybe I can ask Merra to bake some lemon cakes one day soon_.

  Merra sat down on the table with them and said, “So, has the husband told you everything about old Hrolf?”

  She nodded, nibbling at a piece of the apple cake. Merra looked at her openly, and remarked, “You are too pretty to be from any place near here, but you speak Valyrian well enough. It seems that the master dislikes having farmer’s daughters and the like reading to him, because the poor girls haven’t really ever opened a book in their lives. But I am willing to bet that you are not a peasant’s daughter and will do better than them. Where are you all from?”

  “I’m from Lorath, but spent most of my life in Norvos,” Hagen replied, devouring his dinner. “And I praise you, Merra! This food is the best I’ve had in years.”

  “I can very well believe that,” the woman replied. “But I thank you nonetheless. What about you two?”

  “We’re from Westeros, from a place called the Stormlands,” Sandor answered, taking a drink of wine.

  “Westeros?” Barli exclaimed, excitedly coming back to the kitchen. “Why I had a friend from there once! He was called Will, and was from a place called Oltown or something like that, I think.”

  “We’ve never been to Oldtown,” Sandor replied simply, as Merra stood up to start heating some water pails.

  “Neither have we,” she replied. “Well, once the water is hot enough we’ll take it to your rooms so you can have a proper bath. I don’t want you all to dirty the clean sheets, and you must look respectable tomorrow when you meet Hrolf. I’ll put you and Byan in one room, and Jeyne can have the room overlooking the sea.”

  Sansa clutched Sandor’s hand under the table and said, “Oh, no, thank you. It is thoughtful of you, but Byan and I will share a room.”

  She could feel herself blushing at the words, but no one said anything after eyeing Sandor for a moment.

  “So that’s the way of it, then,” Merra finally replied, surprised. “All right. You two can have the room overlooking the sea, and Hagen here will sleep in the room next to the red stairs. Now come, lads, help a woman with the pails. Barli, you show Hagen to his room while I take the other two to theirs.”

  As Sansa bid goodnight to Hagen, who bowed his head as he was wont to do at her in respect, Sandor told her, balancing three water pails in his strong hands, “While you take a bath I’ll go for our saddles.”

  “We will have to find you some satin tomorrow,” Merra called behind her at Sansa. “The dress you’re wearing won’t be clean by tomorrow morning.”

  “I have some other dresses,” she informed the woman. “Clean ones.”

  The room Merra took them to had a large ceiling and was very big. It had a wide long bed with an old feather mattress and furs for blankets, some old rugs decorating the floor, a grand hearth with a fire blazing warmly in it, some old tapestries hanging from the walls, a writing table and a small stone terrace overlooking the sea. And there was a small door that led to the room where the rusted bronze tub with a matching chamber pot was, and that is where Sandor took the warm water to.

  “Will these suit you? There are other rooms, but they will likely be filled with dust and cobwebs. No one has been in them under the master’s orders,” Merra explained.

  “This one will suit us very well,” Sansa admitted, smiling as Sandor joined them.

  Merra nodded. “You’ll find me in the kitchens from dawn till midday, so you can break your fast when you please. Old Hrolf likes to be read to an hour before midday, so be ready by then. I’ll take you to him. He will be surprised to see Barli found a replacement so quickly. I’ve been reading to him since the last girl left us three days ago. She was so silly that a single word from the master scared her.”

  Sansa bid Merra goodnight and when the woman closed the door behind her, Sansa sighed. She looked up at Sandor only to see that he was already looking at her with a quiet expression on his face that she didn’t often see.

  “What is it?” she asked him, smiling. He raised his arm, beckoning her to him, and she slowly made her way to stand in front of him.

  “You look happy, little bird,” he growled deeply as he put his arms around her, a quiet smile on his burned features.

  Sansa looked up at him, wrinkling her forehead in wonder. “How could I not be? We found a decent place to rest and work at, and we are finally relatively safe after weeks and weeks on the road. Are _you_ not happy?”

  Sandor’s grey eyes bore into hers as he brushed her tangled auburn locks out of her face gently. “I’m happy if you’re happy. I only need you beside me to be happy.”

  Sansa smiled and kissed him quickly once he’d bent low enough for her to reach him, resting her forehead against his, hugging him back. “The water is going to get cold. Go on now, take your bath.”

  Sansa nodded, and Sandor turned around and strode out of the room. She took off her clothes and took a bath. The warm water felt so good that for a moment she was tempted to relax on the tub, and she even went as far as closing her eyes. But when she recalled that Sandor still had to take a bath himself and that he wouldn’t take forever to return from the stable, she cleaned herself up, happy to see that Barli had not forgotten to place a bar of soap and some towels on the little wooden table beside the tub.

  When there was a knock on the locked door of the room, Sansa gasped, but it was only Sandor. He said through the door, “I’ve brought you your saddlebag, Sansa. I’ll stand outside as you get dressed.”

  “Thank you,” she called back, quickly drying herself up with the towel. She found her saddlebag right outside the door, and when she had donned her nightgown as well as her smallclothes and taking out her brush, she opened the bedroom’s door and told Sandor he could come in now.

  As he brought out a clean pair of breeches and a tunic from his saddlebag, he winked at her and closed the bathroom’s door before him. Sansa laughed and started brushing her hair, staring at the fire burning on the hearth against the cold night’s breeze. She wanted to walk outside to see the ocean from the stone balcony, but the nights in Lorath Bay were truly cold, and she decided to wait until morning. She wished to talk to Sandor about everything that had happened to them in the last weeks, but she was very tired. _I’ll do that tomorrow_. _We have time for that._ She turned around and walked over to seat on the large bed, her back to the bathroom door.

 

***

 

  After Sandor was done taking his bath, he stepped into the room they’d given him to share with the little bird. His gaze was instantly caught by the mesmerizing sight of Sansa seating on the bed, wearing her nightgown, her wet hair coming down to the small of her back. He rested against the doorframe for a moment, drinking in the sight of her. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, but when he opened his mouth he heard himself saying instead, “I can help you with that if you like.” _I haven’t done that in a long time_.

  Sansa turned around to look at him before she nodded, a little tired smile on her face. Ever since the night when they had kissed by the lake, Sansa would always be smiling at him, yet it always caught him unawares when he remembered that if she was smiling it was because her made her as happy as she made him.

  Sandor went to sit behind her on the bed, and took the brush from her hand, noticing how the fire brought out the red in Sansa’s thick soft hair, making it shine like copper. He ran his hand and the brush through her long curls, remembering the last couple of weeks. It was a fucking relief to be able to finally be free to kiss Sansa whenever he liked, after months and months of shutting his mouth about what he was feeling for her–and they had only kissed quickly, shy of the people of the caravan around them, apart from their first two kisses. Now that they were alone, he knew that he could drop his restraints around Sansa.

  Bearing that in mind, once he was done brushing her hair, he placed both of his hands steadily on her waist, and whispered from behind in her ear, “Little bird, I love you,” before placing a kiss on her smooth soft long neck.

  It still amazed him that such words would come so naturally to him of all men, but they did, and he was not about to start wondering about why it was so. Now that they knew how they felt for each other, he was sure he would never tire of telling Sansa this. _She should know that she is loved, and that she will never be alone again_. _She deserves to be told often that she has someone who loves her more than she could ever imagine._

  Sansa pressed herself close to him with a little surprised intake of breath, and brought her hand to caress his face, her fingertips brushing his burns. He could not feel her touch there, yet the knowledge of what she was doing sent a shiver down his spine, making him feel vulnerable. Sandor placed another kiss on her neck once more, taking in a deep breath, willing himself to remember how sweet it was.

  Sansa shifted on the bed, turning around so that he was cradling her upper body in his arms while she threw her hands around his neck.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered, smiling. “Very much, Sandor.”

  At those words his heart once again constricted, but in a pleasant way. They never broke their gaze as they drew their faces closer to each other, till the tip of their noses touched. Rubbing them together for a moment, Sansa finally closed her eyes and surrendered her mouth to his, and he finally kissed her properly again.

  He didn’t want to scare or overwhelm her, since he was acutely aware that they were sitting on a bed, and there was an almost painful tightness to his breeches, but Sandor willed himself to put his need aside, before he gently began to kiss her sweet lips back, claiming them slowly, and taking his time to taste her. When they deepened the kiss and Sansa eagerly opened her mouth to let his tongue enter her mouth, he groaned into the kiss, pressing closer to him.

  When they drew apart, Sansa buried her face in his neck, getting used to this closeness they could now share, while he treasured the feeling of having her in his arms, this woman who loved him as much as he loved her. After a moment of relishing the feeling of her breath on his neck, he drew her away from him gently. “Come, little bird, it’s time we got some proper rest.”

  Sansa blushed and nodded in agreement, crawling towards the pillows and getting under the furs, looking at him almost sleepily. When he laid down beside her, Sansa drew close to him, resting her head on his shoulder, and before long her hand was unconsciously drawing circles on the hair of his chest.

  “Good night, big man,” Sansa whispered at last, yawning as his fingers brushed lightly over her shoulder.

  “Good night, little bird,” he rasped in reply, and sleep overtook him as well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please review if you like :) Thanks for the new year well-wishes and the support !:D


	29. A Place at the End of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt's, Dante's Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> *The betas behind this fic who make it possible are: onborrowedwings, nysandra & swiftsnowmane! :D I owe them so much!  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.
> 
> *I would like to dedicate this chapter to Lifeather, a great girl & an amazing writer! x)

  _Sansa tried to smile bravely as she looked up at her father before she declared, “I love him, Father, I truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his queen and have his babies.”_

_“Sweet one,” her father said gently, trying to hide a smile as he exchanged a look with Arya, “Listen to me. When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong.”_

  _Brave, gentle and strong_. The words echoed in the halls of her memory with her father’s voice while she slept. _Brave, gentle and strong_. In her dream, she did not recall how this conversation with her father had ended, or that she had been longing for Joffrey Baratheon in those days. No, in her dreams she was just happy and content to remember those words, as she pressed herself closer to Sandor’s warmth and the security his arms offered her under the furs.

  Long hours later, after dawn had come and gone and the sun was rising outside the castle of the old man called Hrolf, Sansa woke up at last. She had been having the most pleasant of dreams, and felt utterly relaxed for the first time since her long journey with the caravan with just one good long unperturbed rest on a featherbed. Sansa blinked away her sleep, raising her head from Sandor’s arm, to realize they were still resting in the exact position in which they had fallen asleep last night.

  _We must have been truly exhausted_ , she thought, as she turned her head to look through her eyelashes at the stone balcony outside their bedroom, hearing the loud sound of the ocean below roaring against the rocks at the foot of the cliff. She knew that the days would be cold in this place, but right now Sandor’s warm body and the heavy fur blankets made her feel quite cozy. With a small grunt, she stretched her body across the bed and glanced back at Sandor, instantly still when she caught sight of his face.

  _He looks so peaceful_ , she thought. Sandor was still deeply asleep himself, breathing heavily, with the good side of his face towards Sansa. Sandor almost always woke up before her, but today she was glad she had done so first because his features looked relaxed and happy, and somehow serene, making her feel glad that in some way she had helped in bringing about this change to his strong northern looks. How long had it been since she’d seen him like this? How she had missed it! _It’s so wonderful to wake up beside him like this again_.

  Sansa stared at him silently for a long time, lost in her thoughts, and before she realized it, she found herself remembering the words her father had once told her about the man he would want to choose for her. _It’s so strange_ , she gathered, as her hand slowly brushed a strand of dark hair away from Sandor’s face _. Whenever I think of Father, I feel so sad_ , _yet right now all I can feel is joy_. _In the end I found a man with the qualities Father spoke of, and I do not believe I would have any other, be it mighty king, proud prince, high magister or some noble lord if I had the choice_.

  And even if she was aware that Sandor Clegane was not the man her father, her lady mother or Robb would have chosen for her, Sansa felt no regrets.

  She seemed to be smiling too much of late–ever since Sandor had told her how he felt about her that night by the lake. So it was not surprising when with a mischievous grin, she propped herself up with her elbows and gave Sandor a quick kiss on the mouth. He didn’t even stir from his slumber one bit. Determined to see if he would like to be woken up like this, Sansa kissed him again, pressing her lips against his burned ones for a long moment this time, but there was no effect whatsoever on her big man, except for a loud snort.

  Trying to hide her giggles, Sansa closed her eyes and started kissing Sandor everywhere, from his mouth to his nose to the rough stubble of his cheeks and jaw despite it scratching her, all the way to his neck and the hole that remained of his ear before it was melted away. But when she finally felt him stirring underneath her, Sansa could not help herself. She chanced a glance at him, and was met with a sleepy stare from his grey eyes, blinking away sleep, a bit startled as he realized what she was doing to him.

  “What the–?" he growled hoarsely, but could not finish, for she eagerly placed a kiss on his mouth in that moment. Now that she had started, she couldn’t stop. Sandor drew back a little, placing his large hands on her shoulders to gain some distance. He looked at her for a moment before remarking, “I was having a dream, Sansa.”

  Sansa stopped kissing his face, and with an arched eyebrow she sat back in the bed, trying very hard to keep her face straight. “Would you like me to let you go back to your sleep then, Sandor?”

  Sandor smiled a wolfish grin. He brought his hands to encircle her waist, his eyes never leaving her face. “Bugger that, little bird, not bloody likely. This is better.”

  “Good, I thought so,” she told him, as Sandor brought her closer to him. She lowered herself so that her upper body was sprawled upon his broad hard chest, and kissed him again on the mouth. This time it was not a quick kiss but one far sweeter. At one point Sandor brushed his hand down her back, and when they drew apart, Sansa let her fingers trail down his face, till they were caressing the nerve of his neck. They were both a little breathless when they drew apart, she noticed, feeling her swollen lips, as a blush crept up her neck.

  While her eyes burned deeply into his, Sansa felt a sense of ease descending upon her, making her believe for a moment that nothing would ever come between them since it almost seemed as if they were completely and utterly alone, and this room was the whole world. The grey eyes which had once been drunken and full of hate and rage, never failed to take her breath away now, and for a mad moment she found herself wondering if her children would one day have Sandor’s eyes.

  “I like waking up like this,” Sandor rasped.

  “I thought you would. I like it as well, and yet you’re _still_ sleepy,” she remarked, running her fingertips down to his collarbone. “I have to get ready to meet the man I must read to, but you can rest in the meantime before we go and break our fast, if you like.”

  It didn’t look like any of those prospects appealed to him, but he nonetheless gave a resigned grunt, while she rose from the bed, her long nightgown trailing behind her, aware that Sandor was watching her. She went towards the stone balcony, unlocking the door that separated it from the bedroom, and was happy to see that in daylight this remote place did not look so bleak anymore. A strong salty wind met her as she stepped outside, noticing the pale wan sun up in the grey-blue sky.

  The world was hazy in the morning light of this new day, yet Sansa stared all the same at the thin yellow shore below the cliff on which the old castle sat, and the coast was covered with sharp rocks here and there, with a beautiful unyielding pounding ocean covering the horizon and beyond as far as the eye could see. _This sea and its waters are the same as the ones of the North that can be found in White Harbour and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea_. Home didn’t seem so very far away to Sansa now.

  She was unconsciously wrapping a lock of hair around her finger and thumb when Sandor stepped onto the stone balcony, joining her. He strode in her direction, casting a look at the landscape, before he reached her, placing his hand on her elbow, while she placed her own on his narrow waist. She was long of leg, but he still easily towered over her, so when they drew close, he had to bend down so his forehead could rest against hers.

  “It seems as if we have reached a place at the end of the world, doesn’t it?” Sandor observed, in that raspy voice of his, as she turned her back to him so that he could embrace her from behind.

  “It does,” Sansa agreed, as he placed his chin on her shoulder. “We’ll be safe here, won’t we?”

  Sandor pressed her close to him for a moment, burying his face in the crook of her neck, the rough dark stubble on his jaw tickling her. She felt him grazing his teeth and the tip of his tongue momentarily against her skin before he said in a reassuring tone, “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t think so.”

  The sound of the sea and Sandor’s strong breathing were soothing sounds to her. She closed her eyes, wishing to treasure this moment forever.

  “But that is not all that should concern us, Sansa. If that bloody old fool disrespects you in any way–raising his voice or calling you names, you tell me and I’ll take you away from here at once, before I teach the man a lesson, understood?” he said, breaking the spell as he raised his face away from her neck.

  Sansa smiled and turned around, placing her hand on his mouth to silence him. “Let’s not talk about what could go wrong, please. You said we were safe and well; we’re here now, and so far everything has turned out to be better than what I would’ve dared expect to find in the Shivering Sea.”

  Sandor looked like he was about to protest, so she let her hand run down to his muscled chest, placing it near his heart. He brought his own hand to hold hers, as he persisted, “You’ll tell me, won’t you?”

  She nodded, resigned, and said, “We have to get ready. Merra said I must be prepared to meet Hrolf an hour before midday.”

  “Old Hrolf can bugger himself with a hot poker,” he told her. “You’re not going anywhere just yet.”

  Once again he wrapped his arms around her, but this time he did so playfully, while she struggled to get free, leaving them both laughing. It was silly, but it was nice to play like this with him. Everything that had happened in Norvos had been so serious, with their fates and lives at risk, making this fooling around more precious to her than it normally would have.

  When she was unable to wriggle away from him, she went limp, yielding, and looked up at Sandor’s face. His eyes searched her own, as if desperately seeking something in them, but Sansa could not tell if he found it or not. She smiled at him in reassurance and closed her eyes, turning her neck upwards a little, so that they could kiss once more, while Sandor cupped her face with both hands and she ran her hands across his muscled broad back, lowering them to the hem of his tunic, toying with it as her fingers crept beneath it to touch a little of his skin momentarily.  Now it was her turn to trap him in her arms.

  “Let’s get going,” he told her, lifting her from the ground as she, startled, quickly threw her arms around his neck with a joyous cry. Sansa knew he wouldn’t let her fall as he carried her away from the stone balcony into the bedroom, yet it was nice to cling to him nonetheless.

  After she’d washed her face and hands she dressed into her woolen gown of light blue fabric–which happened to be the one to have survived the long journey from Norvos in the best condition–and while Sandor waited outside on the hallway, Sansa looked at herself on the small mirror that decorated a small corner of the room, and smiled.

_I look so pretty_ , she thought, brushing her hair, determined that the old man who was master of this castle would be unable to find any fault in her. 

 

***

 

  When Sandor saw the little bird coming out of their bedroom, he grinned. He had been resting against the wall beside the door, thinking that this old castle had definitely seen better days, when Sansa opened the door and stepped into the hallway, her eyes instantly looking for him. Fuck, she looked so beautiful and happy that the urge to hold her in his arms the way he’d been doing all morning once again took hold of him. Yet he knew it was best if they didn’t delay anymore.

  “Ready?” he asked, already walking away.

  “Do you think I’ll please Lord Hrolf?” she chirped worriedly, trying to keep up with his long strides as she smoothed the skirts of her gown.

  Sandor said, “If you don’t, it’s because he is blind or as mad as Joffrey was.”

  Sansa gulped, straightening her shoulders. “Gods be good, I hope he isn’t.”

  “He won’t be,” he assured her. “Barli and his wife don’t seem to feel mistreated by him. That’s something one could never say of the little Lannister shit.”

  “Do you think Hagen has already broken his fast?”

  Sandor’s lip curled at the mention of Edar. He couldn’t care less if the outlaw had broken his fast or not, so long as he kept his promise and helped them out once they reached Lorath, but after seeing the way he had tried to tame Stranger, the madman had somehow grudgingly earned a bit of Sandor’s respect, so he hadn’t objected in the end to him joining them. He didn’t seem to be a threat to the little bird, since the man was still crazy about losing his wife, but Sandor hadn’t forgotten the hatred the man felt for Nervere. _I killed the High Sheep, but that doesn’t mean I can’t wonder about what he may have done to earn Hagen’s hatred_.

  He shrugged and replied, “He better have. _All_ of us have to meet the sodding bastard to see if he will allow us to enter his service.”

  Once they reached the kitchens, they found Edar sitting at the wooden table where they had all dined last night, with his legs propped up on a chair, while he picked at his teeth and cleaned his nails in turns with a kitchen knife.

  “Oh, hello!” he called at them cheerfully. “Trust you slept well? Personally, it was excellent to once again rest beneath a roof. But the floor was a bit colder than what I would have fancied.”

  “The floor?” the little bird asked, as she took a seat beside Sandor’s. “Why did you sleep on the floor? Didn’t Barli take you to a room with a bed?”

  The outlaw shrugged. “Yes, but I’ve found that after years of living in the hills out in the open, my back sort of got used to sleeping on hard rock or solid ground. I can’t rest on a mattress anymore.”

  “Oh,” Sansa said, looking sorry. Sandor had known many soldiers who complained of the same. _Old soldiers. The ones who live long enough to get used to sleeping on the cold earth_. His belly gave a loud noise in protest, as he caught a whiff of the smells of sausages nearby. _At least the sodding woman can cook well, I’ll give her that_.

  “I’m used to it. Anyways, are you ready to meet the old bastard? Merra has done nothing but talk about him since I came downstairs.”

  In that moment, Merra herself appeared, stepping from the courtyard outside into the cavernous kitchen from the door where she had met them last night. She had a wide basket cradled on her fat arms. “So you two finally decided to come down! I was just asking Hagen here if you two always slept so late, but he tells me that he hasn’t known you for long.”

  “We met him on the road to here,” Sandor rasped, sparing a look at the woman. “And we’re both heading for Lorath, so he stuck to us.”

  “That sounds like an interesting story,” replied the cook, placing the basket on a stool. “I was just outside by the old dusty well washing up some bedcovers. Are you a good washerwoman, Jeyne?”

  Sansa’s eyed widened as big as saucers, and she answered in a hesitant voice, “W–washerwoman? I–I don’t think…”

  “Let me see those hands,” Merra said, walking over to the little bird. Sandor was trying hard not to snort at the sight of Sansa making up her mind about feeling affronted or not at the way Merra seemed certain that she was. The woman grabbed Sansa’s hand and examined it for a moment before she let it go, saying, “My, my, but your hands haven’t seen a day’s work in your life, girl! They’re smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

  Edar smirked as Sansa blushed, clasping her hands together, with a frown on her face.

  “I don’t think you’ll be of much help around the castle. You look too delicate to know how to churn butter or skin a–”

  “I thought she was here only to read to the old bugger,” Sandor snarled. He didn’t like to see Sansa shifting uncomfortably at the thought of doing a servant’s work. “I reckon that if you needed a girl to help you with your work, then you can call back one of those girls from the village.”

  “Now, now, don’t take that tone with me, Byan,” Merra answered, pointing her wooden spoon at him, not the least intimidated. “I know the girl isn’t here to help me out–though if she were inclined to do so, she would get paid for it. No, I was just wondering because there will be nothing else for her to do in this place besides reading to the old man once a day, and she is doomed to get bored soon enough.”

  “I can help you with sewing,” Sansa exclaimed. “I’m very good with needles, and do fine embroidery.”

  “Embroidery for whom? For me and Barli? For the master? Don’t think he would like that. But maybe there is some bedcovers that need mending. And you can make a pretty satin dress for yourself if you stay long enough. I know you said you have other gowns, but there are old yards of different fabrics up in the west wing that were never used.”

  Merra served them fried bread, blood sausages and a double serving of eggs to break their fast with. Hagen went on cleaning his teeth and nails while the cook went on and on about everything and nothing. She started telling them about the shipwreck that had claimed the life of old Hrolf’s daughter, as she prepared her master’s hot spiced wine.

  Sansa and the outlaw would answer the fat woman; Sandor was too busy enjoying his food and the sight of his little bird that he didn’t say a single thing.  Sansa knew he was staring at her openly, but she didn’t seem to mind it, for her lips parted in a smile whenever their gazes locked.

  Before long, Sandor found himself remembering everything that had happened since he’d woken up, playing in his mind how Sansa had woken him up with little kisses on his face. _I told her I liked waking up like that, and it’s the truth_. Fuck, she was his pretty little bird. _His_.

  It still amazed him to think that she would probably be his woman in all ways if they both got their way, and that one day they would have children together. Not even back in Norvos would he have dared consider this a possibility, but now Sandor could feel a change in their relationship. They were growing used to touching and kissing, alternating between chaste kisses and deep ones, and he couldn’t be happier with this turn of events. They had spent months living in a close growing intimacy, but he had always tried to keep his feelings at bay, restricting himself as they denied that they were falling for the other, and now that they were embarking upon this new journey as lovers, Sandor found himself reassessing the way he saw things. _Under a better light_.

                                     

***

 

  Once she and Sandor were done breaking their fast, Merra came over to look at Sansa, nodding approvingly as she said, “Yes, you look pretty. You don’t have to fear the master telling you that you have horse teeth, or that the wart on your nose is too distracting a sight for him to pay attention to what you’re attempting to read to him. The last girl had a slight stammer, and you can imagine how scared she ended up when she left us, poor dear. Let’s just hope you two have a good start.” 

  Sansa stared open-mouthed at Merra, appalled at Hrolf’s apparent audacity. _No wonder so many girls have abandoned this work_. She took hold of Sandor’s hand as Merra lead the way to the rooms where the master of the castle had his abode, with a tray on her hands with a flagon and a cup placed on its surface. From what Sansa had understood, Hrolf had turned himself into a recluse in his own home after the death of his daughter, and by the respectful tone in which the cook spoke of the girl, she had been the only person Hrolf had ever really cared for.

  They went up a serpentine staircase that led into a vast and empty hall that Sansa was sure had once been a ballroom, before mice and spiders took up residence in its corners and the ceiling. The castle had been built with dark rock, and in the places were no torches were lit or no windows were to be found, it was hard to see where she would place her next step in the dull light of the day. Merra seemed to know her way around, though, but when she grew tired of climbing upstairs, she fell silent, leaving their breaths the only sounds to echo in the narrow corridors and hallways. With the ghostly silence that descended upon their little party, Sansa began to feel just like when she accompanied her brothers into the old tombs of the Kings of Winter and her forbearers. She had been quite scared then, but now that Sandor was walking beside her, his hand in hers, there was nothing to fear.

  When they reached the tallest tower of the castle, and had climbed up to the last story, they came upon a wide hallway flanked by great tall pillars. Merra turned to them, clutching her hip as she tried to regain her breath.

  “We–we’re here, and just in time,” she panted. “Now, he is of old noble Lorathi blood, so mind your manners and be polite and respectful. Don’t you ever mention anything to him about his daughter or the past. And only address him when he talks to you.”

  Sandor looked bored and Hagen mildly interested; Sansa nodded vigorously, steeling herself for the man who was waiting for her behind those oaken doors.

  “I think it’s better if you two wait here,” Merra the cook told them, jerking her head in the men’s direction. “If the master doesn’t want her, then there is no point in introducing you to him. Come now, Jeyne.”

  And without another word, Merra grabbed Sansa’s hand and knocked three times before stepping into the chambers beyond. Sansa didn’t even have time to look back one last time at Sandor. When the oaken door closed behind her, she blinked, peering about in the dark at old Hrolf’s wide rooms.

  There was a grand bed decorated with dark green draperies, and very old but expensive furniture, such as tables and chairs, book shelves, sheepskin maps, tapestries, rugs, and curtains. The master’s chambers also possessed a bathing room, bigger than the one in her and Sandor’s room. In one corner instead of a wall, a tall entrance to separate the bedroom from the stone balcony had been built, and there is where she caught her first sight of Hrolf.

  He had apparently been outside, staring at the sea as if it was his domain, when they entered, and once Merra called out politely to him, Hrolf turned his back on the landscape and entered the dark room as the cook placed the tray she’d been carrying on a small round table. He was a grim, gray thin man, with olive skin that was bitterly lined, a high noble brow, and a hooked nose. His dark shoulder-length hair and goatee beard had long ago turned to white, yet he did not bend over like Sansa recalled Master Pycelle doing. There was still a certain strength and dignity in the way the man held himself, which alluded to his rich birth and upbringing–a sort of proud bearing. He was wearing boots and a dark coat lined with fur, and underneath it she spied a green leather jerkin over an old loose tunic.

  Sansa had remained by the door when Merra had stepped towards her master, so Hrolf did not see her at once.  His dark green eyes settled on Merra as he said in a harsh strong voice, “So, it’s time for you to read to me again, is it?”

  “No, my lord. Barli found a new girl in Munne yesterday who agreed to come,” Merra replied, bowing. She turned to look at Sansa expectantly.

  Sansa stepped into the room, head held high. When Hrolf finally looked at her, she gave a small respectful nod, but didn’t bow. _I’m not a servant_.

  Hrolf took a step closer to her, a frown appearing on his hard features. _He’s probably wondering why I am meeting his gaze so openly_ , Sansa thought. That’s what _she_ would’ve thought had one of her handmaidens done this.

  “This one isn’t from Munne,” the master of the castle said.

  “No, she’s from the Sunset Kingdoms. From a place called the Stormlands.”

  Hrolf quickly looked at Merra, surprised. “From the Seven Kingdoms? What is a Westerosi girl doing so far from home?”

  Hrolf wasn’t raising his voice, yet Merra looked nervously at Sansa, at a loss for words. Hrolf turned on Sansa, and raising his voice a little, he exclaimed, “Well? Why are you here? What brought you to this part of the world? Why don’t you answer?”

  Sansa gulped and replied, “I’m seeking to book passage on a ship to Lorath. Until I have the coin for it, I must look for employment, and your man Barli was kind enough to recommend me this position.”

  Hrolf narrowed his eyes. “My man Barli was kind enough to recommend…? Well, at least you’re well-spoken and I can understand your Valyrian. You don’t think it tedious to spend your days reading to an old man, do you?”

  She shook her head. “I enjoy reading very much. It will please me to improve my High Valyrian by doing so, if you agree to hire my services.”

  “A well-spoken Westerosi maid who knows High Valyrian. Impressive. Tell me, what is your name, girl?”

  “Jeyne,” Sansa answered. She had lied about what she felt in King’s Landing, and about whom she was in Great Norvos. Lies came quite easily to her now, and it was not going to be hard to create a history for her.

  “Jeyne,” the old man repeated, stroking his white beard. Sansa noticed that he was wearing a labradorite ring on his right forefinger. That was the only piece of jewelry on him. He turned to look at Merra and said, “There are no other girls, are there?”

  The cook shook her head. “Not in Munne. Barli was going to go to the next town yesterday, but he came upon Jeyne and–”

  “And thought it would be easier for him to spare himself the trip and return to the castle,” Hrolf interrupted, waving his hand. “Yes, yes, I know how that husband of yours thinks. Very well, this one can stay. We’ll see how she fares here soon enough.”

  Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. They would be able to stay in this place! No matter how dreary the castle or Hrolf were, they were better options than going from village to village inquiring for work. She tried to hide her smile at those thoughts, and lowered her gaze to her feet, her hands entwined before her.

  “Jeyne has come with two companions, my lord,” Merra put in.

  “Two companions? You know that I don’t like you hiring mothers. Their brats want to cling to their skirts all the time and–”

  “I’m not a mother,” Sansa interrupted, frowning. “My companions are two friends of mine.” Sandor was more than that, of course, but if she told that to this old man she was sure he would tell her that she would be a mother soon enough. 

  Hrolf looked amused at her reaction. “And I take it that you will only accept the position here if I agree on letting them work for me in the castle as well?”

  “Indeed,” she replied.

  The old man looked at his cook as if blaming her for that, but said, “I’m sure they are waiting without. Tell them to come in. Let’s have a look at Jeyne’s _companions_.”

  Merra went quickly to the door and bid Sandor and the outlaw to come inside. As Sandor stepped into the dark chambers, his eyes caught hers, but she smiled at him in reassurance. So far, old Hrolf hadn’t been exactly rude to her, so there wasn’t much to complain about yet.

  Sandor stood with his feet apart, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, making Sansa recall the days when she would be too scared to look at Joffrey’s ferocious sworn shield, always standing behind the prince, glaring at everyone. Hagen meanwhile stared appraisingly around the room, and whistled admiringly.

  Hrolf looked at them intently. “And what are your names?”

  “Hagen,” Edar replied, shrugging.

  “Byan,” Sandor spat, his eyes boring into those of the old master. “We seek to enter your service.”

  “By your accents, I can tell that you are from Lorath,” Hrolf told them, pacing closer to the men, with his hands behind his back, “and from Westeros. It seems that the only way for me to get my wish and get someone to read for me will be if I allow you two to work in my castle. But I wonder what can you do? This one has his arm broken. He is useless.”

  “Well,” interrupted Merra. “You know that Barli isn’t getting younger, master. These lads could help him chop firewood, or hobble and brush the horses. Those sort of tasks. And Byan looks like he knows how to use a sword. Maybe he could protect us from–”

  “From the rats and the roaches?” asked Hrolf chuckling sourly. “Those are the only guests we have here now, Merra.”

  “Still,” persisted the cook. “It wouldn’t be bad to have someone walking the walls or guarding the gate.”

  Sansa knew Sandor wasn’t keen on doing that by the way he grounded his teeth in frustration, yet he thankfully said nothing. Hrolf took a moment before waving his hand in dismissal. “I accept your services.”

  “How much would you be paying us?” Edar piped in.

  “You shall all be paid for your work at the end of every week,” Hrolf answered in an annoyed raised tone. “But I warn you not to seek to cheat me, for _I_ keep the numbers of how much is spent in this place, and nothing is ever lightly given. You may go now.”

  Sansa noticed from the corner of her eye that as Sandor and Edar turned to go, they didn’t bow or nod in respect at Hrolf. She was about to follow them, believing that the old man’s dismissal also applied to her when he spat, “Not you, girl. You have yet to read to me and see if I am pleased by it. Half an hour has already gone by. You may leave us, Merra. Set a task for the men to work on at once.”

  Edar walked out of the door, looking at her with a little pity for having to stay in this room longer; Merra nodded in encouragement at her as she ushered Sandor out of the bedroom, while he turned around his neck to get one last glance at her with a scowl.

  She smiled encouragingly at him to show she was not afraid, and stared at the oaken doors until they were closed and she was alone with old Hrolf in the dark chamber.

  Silence reigned for a long moment before Hrolf gave a snort and pointed to the bookcases. “Fetch the last book on the third shelf. The big dark blue one.”

  Sansa silently stepped towards the bookcase as Hrolf went to serve himself a cup of spiced mulled wine, muttering under his breath that it had gone cold. She wanted to tell him that it was rude of him not to say “please,” but kept silent in the end. Running her finger along the spine of the heavy book, Sansa mouthed the title, _A History of Sealore and Shipwright by Captain Zeger_. Resigning herself to what promised to be a very boring reading, she looked around the dark chamber and went to sit on an arm chair upholstered in old silk.

  Clearing her throat, she straightened her back and opened the book to the first page before she began to read out loud, “ _Many have been the ones to live before me who claimed to possess the knowledge and skill of what exactly compromises the great art_ …”

  It indeed proved to be quite a tiresome book. Sansa had no special care for the way ships were built, so Captain Zeger’s words made no impression on her whatsoever. She tried to read in a clear loud voice as her mind started to wonder if Hrolf’s interest on the subject had anything to do with his daughter’s death during a shipwreck. _It would be better for him to read about old legends or some captain’s record on his adventures at sea_ , she thought as she read about what was the best wood to build a ship with.

  “It is advisable to build a ship with either softwood or hardwood,” Sansa was reading when Hrolf interrupted her.

  “No, no. That is not how you pronounce hardwood. You must emphasize on the “ _d_ ” more, girl.”

  Sansa gripped the book by its edges and read that passage again, emphasizing on the silly “d,” but Hrolf must have been pleased with her pronunciation now, for he let her go on. After reading forty long pages, the old man at last seemed to decide that he had been read to enough for today. He had spent the time pacing around his rooms, his hands behind his back, looking at the floor with a frowning expression, attentive to every word she uttered as if his life depended on it.

  At last, he said, “That’ll be enough for today, Jeyne.”

  Sansa looked up from the old pages, wondering if she should just stand up and leave. He continued, “That was a tiresome read for you, I’m sure, but you’d better get used to such now that you are here. Still, I feel compelled to congratulate you. Not one of those daft cows Barli has brought me managed to read five pages of that book without a single mistake.”

  Sansa was irritated by his insults on the smallfolk, but she said nonetheless, “Thank you.”

  Hrolf leaned against a pillar, swaying with the contents of his wine cup as he looked at her. She gazed back at him; he continued. “You are different. How is it that you came to learn High Valyrian, Westerosi girl?”

  “I’ve been living in Essos for more than a year,” Sansa lied. “I was forced to learn it to be able to live in the East.” In fact, it was Maester Luwin the one who had first taught her the language, and she hadn’t been living in Essos for so long a time, but the truth was out of the question.

  “Where were you living in Essos before you came here?”

  “In Norvos, and before that in Pentos,” she replied. There was no use in concealing their previous location when Hagen Edar knew they had come from Great Norvos.

  “It makes no matter what brought you to Essos, or why you are traveling with that man with the hideous burns. But you cannot hide from me the fact that you are not lowborn, girl.”  
  Sansa drummed her fingers against the book’s cover and stood up. “If what you mean by lowborn is a girl from a village or a farmer’s daughter or the like, then no, I am not. But I do not see why my past life is of any consequence.”

  Something in her tone must have made it clear to Hrolf that she did not wish to continue talking about this, so he gave a shrug of the shoulders and told her, “You are right. It is of no consequence. Be sure to be here tomorrow an hour before midday and not a minute late. I don’t like being kept waiting. You have my leave to go.”

  Sansa placed the blue book once again on its proper place on the bookshelf before heading for the oak doors. She murmured “Good day,” and closed the doors behind her, with a creaking sound from them that announced they were old and needed to be oiled.

  She leaned against the doors for a moment, staring at the empty hallway, letting out a sigh of relief. _That wasn’t so bad_ , she thought. Time had passed by slowly inside the dark chambers, and now that her task was done, she had the whole day ahead of her to do with as she pleased.

  _I wonder where Sandor is._ Sansa made her way down to the castle’s kitchen, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding at the back of her mind that increased with every step she took in the dreary long corridors, where only her footsteps and her breathing echoed in the walls. Fortunately, she seemed to remember the way to her destination well enough, for she didn’t get lost or take any wrong turns. She gathered in the meantime that she had to be careful not to tell Hrolf too much about her past and who she really was, and everything would be all right, and in no time, she and Sandor would have earned enough to be able to board a ship.

  When she finally reached the cavernous kitchen, she laughed at the view in front of her. Only Edar the outlaw was in the room, but the sight of him trying to cut peppers and beets, and onions with only one hand was a bit silly.

  “I hope that is not the kitchen knife you were using earlier to clean your teeth and nails with,” she warned, looking at the blade in his hands.

  Hagen snorted. “I think that cook would skin me alive with it if I did that.”

  “Why are you in the kitchens?” she asked him.

  “Because that’s all Merra thinks a man with one arm in a sling could do. She told me to cut these, and keep an eye on the boiling water while she went outside to collect some carrots from the garden patch. How was reading to the old man?”

  Sansa shrugged, looking around. “It wasn’t very bad. He wasn’t rude or anything. Have you seen Byan?”

  “He wasn’t rude to _you_ , but did you hear him call me useless? Anyways, Barli took Byan to the small woods beside the castle, to chop lumber.”

  Sansa groaned, her spirits falling. She had spied the small wood beside the castle last night when they arrived. It was not a large wood, but she didn’t think it wise to go distract Sandor from his duty on their first day here.

  “I’ll wait for him, I guess,” she said, sitting on a chair at the wooden table, missing Sandor very much. Just then, Merra came inside with a basket of carrots under her arm.

  When the cook saw her, she wanted to know everything that had happened with Hrolf. Sansa told her everything and in the end the woman smiled. “I think you will do better than the previous girls. If he didn’t bite your head off on the first day, he isn’t likely going to do so later.”

  Sansa smiled, because that pleased her. Her mind started to stray as Merra turned her attention to Edar, and told him that he was chopping off the food into too big pieces.

  “It’s too damn hard with only one hand, woman!” he exclaimed in exasperation, with hurt pride. “I did the best I could.”

  “You are just as useless as Hrolf said. I think tomorrow we’ll put you to till the earth. You are no good in the kitchens.”

  “I am a man, it is to be expected. My place is not in the kitchens.”

  After half an hour of their bickering, Sansa was starting to crave for solitude. She liked Merra and the bandit, but she felt she needed either Sandor or silence. Since the former was out of the question for the moment, the latter was the one appealing to her now. She was beginning to consider going to her bedroom when the cook looked at her in understanding and said, “Jeyne, why don’t you go down to the beach? This is a solemn castle, but the seashore is pretty enough.”

  The sea. _Yes that sounds lovely_ , she thought, her spirits rising. “I would have to leave the castle and walk down the road before I came to the slope that takes me to the shore, wouldn’t I?”

  Barli had told them that was the way to the beach last night, and she didn’t feel keen on leaving the security of the castle all by herself. _If Sandor doesn’t take too long, maybe I can wait for him and we can then walk together down to the sea_.

  Merra cleaned her hands on the apron. “There’s another way. A shortcut of sorts. Follow me, I’ll show you.”

  Curiosity got the better of her, and with a nod at a sullen Edar who had just cut his finger with a knife, Sansa followed Merra out of the kitchen to the stone courtyard. They turned to the left, past the gates, and walked across an old shriveled garden. In one of its corners, a small gate hidden by overgrown bushes awaited.

  Merra opened it with a key. “If you follow these stairs, it’ll take you directly to the beach. Be careful, because they are quite narrow. Once you are at the bottom, there won’t be anything to worry about. No one from Munne ever comes so close to the shadow of the castle. Even the sailors keep their fishing nets well away. They fear the master very much, the silly fools.”

  _No wonder, considering what he thinks of them_. Sansa looked at the stairs dubiously for a moment, and shook her head. She was being silly. Nothing would happen to her. Merra must have sensed her hesitation, for she said, “Once Byan is done with the wood and if there isn’t another task for him, I’ll send him this way.”

  “Thank you,” Sansa told the cook before she left. Taking a deep breath, she looked before her. The shortcut was a long flight of stairs attached to the side of the cliff upon which the castle was perched, with high walls on both sides, and some dead trees’ branches hanging over them. The stairs were many, long and narrow, but Sansa made her way with care and she didn’t slip once. When she finally reached the bottom stairs, she stepped into the sand and looked out at the sea before her. “How beautiful!”

  She turned her face up to look at the sky and saw sea gulls flying, and she felt a strong wind in her hair. Sansa closed her eyes, letting the sound of the waves crashing against the bottom of the cliff a short distance away take over her mind. A bare stretch of deserted beach was to her left, and that is where she headed to, smiling. She took off her shoes so she could feel the sand and the water with her bare feet.

  After walking like that for a moment, she looked back, but when she was confident no one was seeing her, she started to run. It was silly and childish, but she wanted to behave like that if only for a moment. She ran as fast as she could along the coastline, till she was panting and her cheeks were flushed.

  _I don’t want to go back just yet_ , she realized as she gazed up at the castle. Her eyes fell on the highest tower, where she had spent the morning with old Hrolf, and continued to walk down the seashore, pondering over what a strange mystery of a man the master of the castle was.

  Before long, she came upon a small wooden cottage in the middle of the beach, with the front door overlooking the sea. It was clearly old and abandoned, but it looked very pretty. _It must surely be part of Hrolf’s lands_. She doubted the man had allowed people who didn’t belong to his household to settle so close to his castle. She stared at it for a moment before her making up her mind. Making her way towards it, she noticed a short flight of steps led to the small porch that served as entrance to the little house and the veranda surrounding on all sides. It was only one story high, but there was a chimney on the roof and a couple of windows to the side. It was large of length and short of width.

  Sansa climbed the stairs hesitantly, fearing the wood was rotten and would break in two with the slightest weight upon it, but nothing happened. They only creaked a little. Gulping, she stepped into the roofed veranda and peered into one of the windows, noticing that boxes and old furniture were stored inside. Glancing back at the sea, she smiled, liking the view from here. She placed her hand on the balustrade that surrounded the veranda, and quickly took her hand away when she saw how dirty it was.

  _It looks like no one has lived here for years_. She made her way down the front steps, and though she knew it would only get her messy, she lay back on the ground, eyes closed. Now that her view was gone, the sounds all around her turned acute, as well as her sense of touch. The rough scratchy sand clung to her wet feet and was starting to get into her gown, but Sansa Stark stayed where she was, letting a state of peace fall over her.

  Nothing troubled her mind during those moments. She was living a simple life presently. She felt happy and calm in the knowledge that the days ahead of her were going to be peaceful and enjoyable. After a very long time, Sansa sat up, brushing away the sand from her skirts and her hands, afraid to even touch her hair, for it would be covered in sand. _I should have brought a blanket with me_. She didn’t know for certain how long she sat there, lost in thought, but she was sure that it was quite a while.

  When the sun started to go down, she decided it was time to return to the castle. She looked one last time at the cottage and headed back the way she’d come, retracing her footprints upon the sand. Just as she was reaching the stone stairs, she saw Sandor coming down. There was an alert expression on his burned features, and she noticed him loosening his sword on its scabbard.

  “Sansa, where have you been?” he roared, reaching her, relief clear on his face.

  Sansa smiled. “I found a lovely cottage a very short distance away. Come, let me show it to you.”

  “Another time,” he said, refusing to move from where he stood as she tugged at his hand. “Fuck, little bird, you gave me a fright. I return from the woods and the bloody cook tells me you’ve been down here for hours alone. What if someone–”

  “Don’t worry, the villagers are afraid of Hrolf, no one ever comes here,” she explained, shaking sand from her hair. “I’m sorry I lost track of time, but it was wonderful to sit by the sea and just–just _rest_ , you know. To forget everything for a moment, and let the sound of the sea take over your mind, and–”

  Sandor laughed in jest. “You are a crazy little bird.”

  She giggled. “I believe I’ve missed lunch.”

  “Me too. I cut so much wood that it took me and Barli all day to bring it all back to the castle. How was reading for that old sick bastard?”

  “It wasn’t bad,” she said, holding Sandor’s hand. “Come, sit here with me for a moment before we go back.”

  After looking at her face for a moment, he nodded and let her lead him to a place where the sea almost touched them. They sat down, Sandor cross-legged and she preferred to kneel. Sansa told him how her appointment with Hrolf had gone, and in the end Sandor’s lip started to twitch. “As long as he doesn’t insult you or worse, I guess it isn’t so bad that you only have to read to him.”

  He sounded tired, and she felt for him at that moment for some reason. Wishing to cheer him up, Sansa crawled behind him, and straightening up, she began to knead the tension from his shoulder blades, marveling at how muscled he was and the breadth of his shoulders.

  “Better?” she asked him when she was done, despite him never having said he didn’t feel well.

  “Much better, bird.”

  Sansa threw her arms around him from behind, staring out at the sea. Sandor’s large hands held her own in front of him. His touch was gentle, but Sansa knew just how deadly the hands that held her own could be.

  She pressed herself against Sandor’s hard wide back as he asked her, “What are you thinking?”

  “That I am happy to be here with you now,” she answered truthfully. “And you?”

  “About something my grandfather once told me. I never believed his words, but now I see he was right.”

  “What did he tell you?” she asked him. Sansa knew Sandor didn’t mind talking to her about his past–painful experiences or good memories.

  Sandor gazed at the ocean for a moment. “He said that the most important part in anyone’s life is who you are sharing it with.”

  Sansa smiled, at a loss for words. Without thinking, she leaned down and, closing her eyes, she gently bit Sandor’s good ear, grazing the earlobe with her perfect white teeth. She didn’t know why she did it, but it just felt _right_.

  “I am happy to be sharing my life with you too,” she murmured, understanding what her big man was trying to tell her, as he stiffened underneath her when she sucked at his earlobe again.

  Suddenly, he threw his wide arms behind him, encircling her as he rasped, “Hold still.”

  “Why?” she wondered, as Sandor stood up. He had meant for her to ride his back as he made his way to the shortcut, and so she clung to him, laughing.

 

***

 

  Sandor noticed that the little bird was quiet for the rest of the day. _There’s something on her mind_ , he knew at once. He wanted to ask her what it was, but he knew he wouldn’t get a chance to do so till they were in bed. Once they had returned to the castle, Sansa offered Merra her help to cook dinner, so Sandor went to take a long hot bath in the meantime. It had felt good to have the physical activity of chopping firewood, but now he was sore and tired. He didn’t mind the pain, though. He welcomed it. Sandor had chopped about twenty times more firewood than they needed, but he had figured that if he cut enough, then they wouldn’t set him to do so again for many days–days which he could spend in the castle with his little bird, not in the woods with old Barli for company. After his bath, Sansa said it was her turn to take one. He was clean already, but the moment he saw her leave the kitchens he could not help the thought of joining her in her bath from flashing across his mind.

  Instead he went off to the stables to visit Stranger.

  “Leave my bloody warhorse alone,” he spat the moment he saw Hagen Edar trying to peer into the stables, too afraid to get inside with the warhorse being housed there.

  The buggering bastard jumped at the sound of his snarling voice. “I can’t help it! I was walking across the stone courtyard when I met his eyes, and they just rooted me to the spot. Hasn’t it ever happened to you?”

  “No,” Sandor snarled, walking past the man into Stranger’s stall. “I was never fool or crazy enough to try and tame him like you did–scaring the wits out of him while I set my dogs on him. Now bugger off. I’m tired of talking to you.”

  “You can be quite an unpleasant fellow at times, you know,” Edar shot back, leaving with a laugh. But Sandor’s attention was already caught by his black destrier. He brushed his horse’s coat, and then he brushed Nan’s. When he was done, he stepped outside of the stables and saw Barli’s white and black Sheppard dog heading towards him. When the dog sniffed his feet, Sandor scratched his ear.

  During dinner that night, Sansa asked Merra about that cabin she’d told him earlier she’d found. The woman said that it had once been a playhouse for Hrolf’s daughter, and a favorite retreat of hers, but since her death it had been abandoned. Sansa nodded and went quiet, and Sandor knew at once what was occupying her thoughts.

  “You are thinking on living there, aren’t you?” he asked her the moment they closed the door to their bedroom, retiring for the day. “You want to live in that cabin on the beach.”

  Sansa looked at him, surprised, but ended up smiling. “How did you know?”

  “I pay attention. And I know you too well.”

  The little bird closed the doors to the stone terrace. “Wouldn’t you like living there? I mean, I guess we would spend most of the day here in the castle. But it would be so nice to go there every night and be completely alone.”

  He arched his eyebrow at her. Now that he thought of it, it didn’t sound so bad. _We would be alone and free to do whatever we wanted down there_. Sandor wondered if that had occurred to Sansa as well. He looked at her, but when her eyes met his she dropped her gaze at once, blushing.

  Sandor laughed, sitting on the bed as he started taking off his boots. “You think the old man will let you stay in the place where his daughter used to play?”

  Sansa sat on the bed as well and got under the furs. She looked defeated, but it was true that he knew her too well. Sandor knew Sansa wasn’t going to let go of her idea of living with him in the cabin by the sea so easily.

 

***

 

  Sansa didn’t know why, but she felt determined to at least try and see if there was a small chance of living in that little cottage by the beach for as long a time as they were to remain here. Something in it appealed to her greatly, and she knew it was not going to be an easy task to convince Hrolf to allow the place to be used again. Sansa had tried smiling at the old man whenever she met his cold green eyes, in an attempt to win his favor. She wasn’t quite sure she had succeeded.

  That had been this morning. Presently, she and Sandor had stolen away to the seashore to watch the sun go down. They had settled relatively close to the shortcut from the castle, and had spread a large blanket upon the ground, so that they could rest on it without getting sand on their clothes. Sansa had also brought down a basket with sweet biscuits straight from the oven, and a bottle of buttermilk. Sandor had preferred to bring a flagon of wine with him after he’d gone off to have a look at the wine cellar.

  Sansa was nibbling at a biscuit as she rested on her belly, the plate of food before her, staring at the sea and the red and pink sunset. Sandor had rested his head on her back, and was absentmindedly scratching the head of Barli’s large dog, which had apparently taken a quick fondness for Sandor and had followed him down the long narrow steps. She remembered him telling her once that he liked dogs better than knights. It felt nice that they could be together and not talk much or long, without growing bored of each other’s company. 

  At one point, she must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew her face was pressed against the blanket as she noticed that night had fallen. She waved her hair out of the way as she felt Barli’s dog licking her fingers, and looked around, only to see that Sandor’s tunic and boots were resting beside her, but of the owner there was no sign.

  With a frown, Sansa saw huge footprints leading towards the ocean, till they disappeared at the spot where the water reached the sand. She was still feeling a bit drowsy, so the only emotion that took hold of her was momentary confusion before she saw Sandor coming out of the sea, wearing nothing but his breeches, his hair wet as water ran down his beautiful, muscled and broad chest.

  It wasn’t as if she had never seen him like this before. She had rested her head upon that same chest for nights on end as she fell asleep with Sandor beside her, but since she rarely got to see Sandor without his clothes on, it was always a very welcoming sight to see what lay underneath the armor or the tunics.

  “I didn’t know you liked to swim,” she told him, unable to take her eyes away from him as he reached her, still sitting on the blanket. For some reason, she was nervous.

  Sandor looked down at her for a moment, aware of the way her eyes were slowly tracing every line and curve and inch of his bare chest and powerful wide arms, before he grinned and pulled on his tunic, shivering.

  Sansa felt crestfallen as she saw him shrug, before answering, “I’ve always liked it, since I was a boy and visited Lannisport. I just never got the chance to do so after I went to live in King’s Landing.”

  She quickly stood up, grabbing the blanket she’d been resting on. “I–I didn’t know that.”

  “Now you do,” he replied kindly, the twisted mass of his burns visible even in the gathering dark. Sansa stepped towards him. “You’re going to catch a cold. That water is freezing.”

  She meant only to offer him the blanket, but instead she found herself wrapping it around him herself. Once the blanket was around him, and he was clutching it to his chest, Sansa’s eyes fell on the sea drops that were running down his neck, into the V opening of his tunic, disappearing from sight as they crossed the line where his hair started.

  Sansa unconsciously took a step forward and placed her hand on Sandor’s chest, feeling the wet tunic underneath her touch. He was standing still, looking down at her silently, as her hand ran down the ripples of his muscled chest, marveling at how hard his strong body was. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath, intent on sliding her right hand across him, until she finally looked up and met his grey stare. _I want to touch him underneath his tunic_ , she realized as her heart skipped a beat. The water on his clothes was cold, and yet her hand was burning.

  _What am I doing?_ She finally asked herself. _He must think me a crazy little bird_ , her inexperience told her. But something in Sandor’s eyes made her realize something important in that moment. Sandor was hers. She’d chosen him. She wanted him. _He is the man who is going to be my husband and is going to take my maidenhead, and be the father of my children. Don’t shy away from him now_. He wasn’t judging her. In fact, he was far from doing that.

  Listening to her conscience, Sansa did not turn around to head back to the castle’s warmth with an embarrassed blush creeping on her face. No, instead, she dropped her doubts and reservations and without a word as the tension left her body, Sansa threw her arms around Sandor’s neck as he wrapped his arms around her, enveloping them both in the blanket.

  She pressed her body against his wet one, dampening the front of her gown as he lowered his neck and she raised hers and their lips were kissing, passionately and desperately, like they had done at their house at _The Three Bells_. She felt his need against her stomach at one point, but that only made her moan deeply into the kiss and encouraged her to kiss him harder, not to gasp away in surprise. When they broke apart, Sansa smiled sweetly at her love. He rasped with a smirk as he stroked her neck, “I think we are now both going to catch a cold, little bird.”

  The dog barked loudly at them. With the stars and the moon looking down on them, they made their way up to the castle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… hope you like this chapter! Please review if you like. I’m going back to Uni tomorrow, please keep your fingers crossed everything turns out well ;’) Thanks so much for reading!


	30. The Outlaw & the Master of the Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> *I owe you a lot and I thank you for helping me out so much with this story: onborrowedwings, nysandra & swiftsnowmane!! :D   
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.
> 
> *I am posting this about a day earlier since I’m going on a very short trip tomorrow for some days. But next weekend the following chapter will be updated as usual on Sunday night :)

  Sansa stood at the gates of the old castle in the morning light, staring at Sandor’s retreating back as he rode away on Stranger, with old Barli riding a white palfrey beside him. Hagen Edar had decided to accompany them, but after his encounter with Stranger, he preferred to walk.Since both Sandor and Barli were riding at an easy pace, the Lorathi outlaw kept up with them easily.

  Apparently, once every month a fair of sorts would come to the nearby village of Munne, and that was the date chosen by Barli to go and buy the castle’s provisions. Now that there were more people living in the place, the cook’s husband had asked the younger men to accompany him so they could help carry back the numerous baskets of food and other provisions.

  Sansa had wanted to go too, but she had to stay behind because in less than half an hour she would have to read to old Hrolf. She’d asked Barli to ask him to wait for her to finish her duty, but he’d shaken his head at that, saying that they had to leave early in order to have a chance to buy the best food before it ran out.

  “I thought you hadn’t liked the town,” Sandor had remarked upon seeing her disappointed face.

  “I didn’t, but it’s been ever so long since I’ve gone to a fair. When I was little, I used to love going to Winter Town with my mother and Septa Mordane whenever there was one. They were small affairs, but it was always fun.”

  “We can switch places,” her big man jested. “You go to Munne and I’ll stay here, and read to the old bugger.”

  Sansa laughed. “Oh, no, I don’t think he would like that. He asks for girls, not towering, ferocious, muscled and scarred warriors.”

  Sandor had snorted at her description of him.

  When the men disappeared from her view as they descended a downwards slope on the road, Sansa sighed, enclosing the bars of the iron gates in her fists. She stared sullenly at the empty road, and heard Merra calling, “Jeyne, it’s time. Come on, go up and read to the master.”

  Sansa sighed again and turned around, heading back to the courtyard that led to the back entrance of the cavernous kitchen, resigned to not seeing Sandor until dusk. They had been in this place for a week, and she still hadn’t found a way to approach Hrolf with the matter of her wishing to live at the cottage down by the beach for the remaining time she was to stay here. She was, against all odds, happy with her current life, though. The castle was dismal and it had rained for days, turning the sky a dark grey, but she could not complain of the food or the company or of anything else really, since she was free to come and go as she pleased, and no one ever tried to pry into her relationship with Sandor. And she’d had her first payment yesterday. Ten silver coins, without counting the ones Sandor had earned for his tasks. It had felt good to receive a reward for keeping up with her employment.

  Sandor didn’t like some of the duties assigned to him, like cleaning out the stable or looking after Hrolf’s sheep in a small field nearby, but at least they didn’t occupy all his time. Most afternoons, Sansa was able to accompany him when he was sent to guard the gate or walk the walls at night.

  “What are you cooking for today?” she asked Merra, stepping into the kitchen.

  “Beef and bacon pies for us and the master, and a beef and a rare stew for dinner to warm the boys up with when they come back after a long day outside,” replied the cook.

  “Sounds delicious,” Sansa answered, before she made her way up to the tallest tower so she could read to Hrolf. When she was before his oaken doors she knocked politely, and heard his cold voice reply, “Enter.”

  “Good morning,” Sansa exclaimed, trying to sound cheerful.

  Hrolf was looking over some maps, and didn’t even spare her a glance as he said, “Let’s continue with yesterday’s reading.”

  Sansa nodded. It hadn’t been difficult to get used to his irritable character. She walked over to the bookcase to retrieve the book they’d started on the previous day. It was another reading about ship lore and shipwrighting written by a Tyroshi sailor. The last one had been so tiresome that she wondered how she had ever survived reading it all from beginning to end.

  When she turned around to take her place on the usual seat, she saw Hrolf staring at her with narrowed eyes and a sort of strange watchfulness.

  Sansa blushed and went to sit down. She opened the book to the page where he’d marked it yesterday and began to read, “ _It is not thought of as wise to sail the Narrow Sea during autumn storms_ …”

  By the time she had reached the next chapter, the gruff old man had seated himself on a chair, staring at the cold stone floor, his chin resting on his entwined hands as his elbows rested on the arms of his chair.

  “ _The best material for a ship’s sail can be found in Tyrosh_ ,” was what Sansa was reading when all of a sudden the old man gave a snort of disdain.

  She looked up from her reading, puzzled at Hrolf’s reaction. The man met her Tully blue eyes with his dark green ones as he shifted uncomfortably on his seat.

  “Tyroshi are liars, girl,” he explained. “They are famous for their avarice and greed just as much as for their horrible colored beards. Don’t you ever buy anything from them. Don’t ever trust them.”

  Sansa stared at him with wide eyes, at a loss of what to say next. _Then why are you making me read a book written by a Tyroshi?_ She lowered her gaze to the book, and kept on reading as if there had been no interruption. After an hour, Hrolf signaled for her to stop. She closed the book, noticing that the old man’s eyes were fixed on her face. _How long has he been staring at me like that?_ Sansa wanted to look away, since she could not discern his expression, but didn’t. _He_ _isn’t even blinking_.

  “My daughter used to braid her hair like that,” Hrolf said, pointing at her hair. Sansa gulped, as she remembered Merra telling her _never_ to speak with the master of the castle about his daughter or the past.

  She continued to look at him in silence; Hrolf snorted and stood up. He took a few steps towards the stone balcony, gazing at the sky. “Don’t look at me with that frightful expression, girl. It isn’t becoming. I know the cook and her lackwit husband must have already spoken of her to you and your companions.”

  “I’m sorry,” was all she could tell the man, and she _did_ mean it.

  He didn’t seem to hear her, for he made no movement and continued to gaze outside. Sansa stood up quietly and returned the book to its proper place. She was about to step out of the dark chambers when Hrolf commented, “I saw you and your _friend_ from Westeros riding yesterday’s afternoon down by the beach.”

  She glanced at him quickly, but he was still looking away. The way he had pronounced the word friend in reference to Sandor made her feel certain that just as Merra the cook had told her about Hrolf’s daughter, she must have also told her master everything regarding the new members of the castle’s household.

  “You were making so much noise that you disturbed my rest,” the old man went on, finally turning around to face her.

  Sansa flexed her hands before her as the memories of the previous day came to her. She and Sandor had taken Stranger and Nan down to the beach when he was done with his duties, and they had had a wonderful time riding across the beach. She didn’t really like to ride, preferring to brush Nan’s mane, but she had to admit that it had been fun to race against Sandor at a wild speed, even if he hadn’t let her win in the end.

  “We did not realize we were making so much noise,” she answered truthfully. “It won’t happen again. I apologize.”

  “What won’t happen again? The noise or the riding?” he asked with a mocking tone. Before she could reply, he went on, “I suppose there aren’t many diversions to be found here. Nonetheless, I would think it wiser for a girl who is seeking to earn coin to book passage on a ship to spend her spare time earning her silver by busying herself with other tasks than with fooling around with riding.”

  She frowned at that, and for a moment the thought of telling Hrolf that it was her own affair how she spent her time flashed across her mind, and she blinked as another possibility dawned on her.

  “I have a task in mind,” she heard herself say. Sansa knew that it would be silly to ask for payment for cleaning up a cottage no one had asked to clean–a place in which she wanted to live in for a little while. “The other day I came upon an empty wooden cottage on the beach, not far from here. I was wondering if I could be allowed to clean it up.”

  The man stiffened at once. Sansa saw how his body tensed under her gaze, the effect that her words had had on him not easy to ignore.

  “Why would you want to do that?” he hissed at last.

  Sansa lowered her eyes, uncertain as to how to proceed. “I… it’s very pretty, and it’s a shame it’s been abandoned. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind me and Byan staying there for the remainder of the time we are here.”

  The man’s hard dark green eyes bore into hers as he gulped and replied, “You wish to live there with your fellow Westerosi? Has the room where Merra placed you not been to your liking?”

  “The bedroom is very agreeable, but–but…” she faltered, unsure as to how to go on.

  “Do you know to whom that cottage belonged?” Hrolf wanted to know, though she was certain he knew she was aware of it already.

  “Yes.”

  “Get out. You can live in the stables for all I care, but that place stays as it is.”

  Sansa looked steadily at Hrolf, and turned around and left the room without another word.

  As she made her way to the kitchens, her heart was racing. _Gods, why must he be so horrid?_ Her heart fell as she realized that her wish of living with Sandor by the sea in that cottage was not going to become a reality. When she played over in her mind everything that had been said in Hrolf’s chambers, she couldn’t even find it encouraging at first that he hadn’t released her from his service. _How will I ever face him tomorrow?_ She was wondering when she finally entered the cavernous domain of the cook.

  Merra must have noticed something in her face, because she was at once asking her what the matter was. When Sansa was done telling her everything, Merra sat down beside her at the wooden table, worried.

  “Oh, Jeyne, why didn’t you come to me first with your wish to live in the cottage?”   

  “Because I knew you would tell me I had no chance whatsoever of convincing the old man to agree upon it.”

  “And I would’ve been right, wouldn’t I?”

  Sansa frowned. “I had to _try_.”

  “But I told you how upset he becomes with anything relating to Runa–that was the young mistress’ name. To think of you asking the master about living there–”

  “Well, it would be lovely,” Sansa intervened. “And Byan agrees. Hrolf wouldn’t have to pay us or anything for cleaning up the place. But besides being a great way to occupy our days here, I don’t think it wise to let that cottage rut with decay. If his daughter loved it so much, surely he cannot wonder as to why I would want this. I know it would be very nice to live there… _if_ we stay here. Do you think he will ask me to leave this place?”

  Merra bit her lip, drumming her fingers across the surface of the table. “I don’t know, Jeyne. I don’t know.”

  Sansa had lost her appetite, so she declined Merra’s beef and bacon pies and stood up, thinking that as Sandor wasn’t here she could try and rest. She couldn’t stand looking at the worried frown on the cook’s face any longer. It unnerved her. _I don’t want to go away. Neither Sandor nor I have earned enough yet_. Why, not even Hagen had earned enough coin to buy passage just for himself aboard a ship yet.

  She was about to leave the kitchens when she thought of Sandor’s reaction to Hrolf’s treatment of her. _He’ll overreact again, I just know it_.

  Turning around, she called at the cook, “Merra, could I–could I ask you a favor, please?”

  “What?” the woman said, slowly.

  “Please, don’t mention anything of this to anyone. I don’t want Byan to hear of this. If Hrolf allows me to continue reading to him, then I don’t want to go away yet, because Byan won’t want to stay here any longer if he learns what happened today.”

  Merra considered her for a moment and nodded, smiling. “All right, Jeyne. I won’t say a word. And you can be sure the master won’t either–at least not to Byan.”

  Sansa tried to return the cook’s smile. With a sigh, she left her and made her way back to her and Sandor’s bedroom. As she climbed stairs and walked silently across empty hallways, Sansa realized that she had never explored this castle. The only places she’d seen were on her way to the kitchens or to Hrolf’s bedroom, but though the thought of finally getting to know what lay beyond the usual route occurred to her, in the end her steps led her to the door to the rooms were she slept. _If I encounter Hrolf in a corridor and he asks me why I am walking through his home as if I owned it, it will only make this situation worse._

  When she closed the door behind her, Sansa let out a laugh that may have very well been a sob. _I don’t want to go yet_ , was the constant thought on the back of her mind, as she gazed around the bedroom. There was a cold reassuring beauty to the simple stone walls that surrounded her, which she’d come to appreciate more than she had ever done the luxurious chamber the lions had caged her in back in King’s Landing.

  Her eyes fell on her saddlebag. Sandor had taken his to town, but hers remained on the corner where she had placed it a week ago. _Maybe_ _I should start packing_. She took some steps forward before dismissing the notion with a toss of her head. _No, don’t be rash. Just wait. Maybe old Hrolf won’t send you away_.

  Sansa’s head was starting to hurt a little, so she went to lie back on the bed, staring at the stone wall, trying to let the sound of the waves below the castle soothe her to a quiet slumber without succeeding. Before long, she walked out onto the terrace to stare at the landscape, trying to avoid her head turning her head in the direction where the cottage had been built in the middle of the beach.

  She must have stayed in her room for hours. Suddenly, the sound of someone knocking outside her door startled her. For a brief moment, she thought of Sandor, but her big man always knocked harder.

  “Who is it?” she called.

  “Merra. Let me in,” the cook called.

  Sansa walked lightly to open the door. She was surprised to see Merra smiling as she made her way inside the bedroom.

  “I have good news,” she said simply. “Come, sit. Oh, Jeyne, I–I don’t know how I did it, but I did it.” Merra spoke in an awed voice, her tone barely above a whisper, as if she was having difficulty in believing that she’d actually _done_ it.

  “What did you do?” Sansa asked, sitting beside the woman.

  “I–I somehow convinced the master to let you stay at the cottage.”

  Sansa stared, her eyes growing wide. “How?” _I can’t believe it_.

  “I would never have thought it possible, Jeyne. I’ve lived here all my life, always in fear of the master and–and yet, I thought he was actually _listening_ to what I was telling him, as if–as if he cared to know what I thought of this.”

  “Of course he cares,” Sansa said, grabbing Merra’s hand. “You and Barli are the only ones left to him in this world. But tell me please, what happened?”

  “I went to take him his lunch, and he asked me what I thought of your audacity. I–I tried to back you up, trying to explain what you told me in the kitchens, and even went so far as to say I didn’t think Runa would have minded it if you lived there for a while. I even offered having Barli bring up all her old things back to her rooms here in the castle.”

  Sansa nodded, “And what did he say to that?”

  “Nothing at first. He just looked at me with a flash of anger in his eyes; for a moment, I feared he would strike me. But he didn’t, of course, and–and just as I was leaving, he said, ‘Tell the girl she can live there if she takes proper care of that place.’”

  Realizing what this meant made Sansa feel much better. _We won’t be cast away to the road, and Sandor and I will get to live in the cottage!_ Yet she still had doubts.

  “But why do you think he agreed?” she asked Merra. “I thought he hated me now.”

  Merra patted her hand. “Well, he doesn’t like anybody, but out of all the girls who’ve read to him, I can see that you are the one he looks upon with less dislike. The one he hates less. You’ve only been here a week, and see how far you’ve come. You don’t annoy him as much as the other girls did, or he wouldn’t want you to remain here and keep on reading to him after what happened today.”

  Sansa smiled in agreement. “Yes. It serves that I can read Valyrian well, too. Merra, may I ask you something?” She tried to think of the best way to phrase her thoughts. “You’ve–you’ve told me how Runa died, but you never said what she was doing on that ship in the first place. I–I don’t mean to pry, but I want to understand what happened here a little better, if you could tell me...”

  Merra sighed deeply, her smile at the way Hrolf had listened to her vanishing slowly. “I’m not sure I should, but maybe if I tell you, you’ll be a little more understanding of the master and why he is the way you’ve seen. You see, his wife died birthing Runa long ago. Hrolf wasn’t particularly fond of his wife, but since the moment he first laid eyes on his daughter, he was a different man. Or at least a different man towards the girl, for he has always been hard with everyone. He loved her dearly, and Runa was a sweet child. Everyone fell under her spell. She had her father’s eyes and her mother’s yellow hair. She also cared very much for her father.”

  It was hard for Sansa to imagine Hrolf being nice to anyone, but she supposed that what Merra was telling her was true by the way her voice broke with remembering.

  The cook went on. “When–when she grew up, there was a grand ball here one night. Despite what this castle has become, it was once a great place. All the lords of Lorath came here to attend the ball. I had never seen anything like it. And I met Barli that night. He was accompanying an old lord, and didn’t go back with him to Lorath after his master left us. Even people from Braavos had been sent an invitation, and with them came a young handsome swordsman. A bravo. He was a silly man if ever I saw one. Dressed up in flashy colors and strutting around like a proud peacock. He and Runa fell in love despite the fact that he was penniless and lived by his sword alone. The master was horrified, but in the end he couldn’t deny his daughter anything and gave his reluctant consent. Runa married her lover and they went to live in Braavos.”

  Sansa was paying close attention, practically picturing in her mind the grand ball that had taken place in the dark dusty ballroom. She nodded, encouraging the cook to go on.

  “Six months later, Runa sent a letter to her father that she was coming home to him. Her husband had been killed in a street fight, and she was expecting his child. But–but she never managed to come home, for her ship was caught in a storm that was by everyone’s accounts raging wildly out in the Shivering Sea.”

  Sansa gasped. _How horrible._ “I–I had no idea. Gods, no wonder her father never leaves his rooms now, he truly did love her.”

  Merra didn’t have tears on her eyes, but her voice was full of sorrow as she nodded and said, “Yes, it was terrible. Runa was a charming child. I never had children with Barli, but before him I was Runa’s nurse, so it hit me hard as well.”

  Sansa threw her arms around the cook, and hugged her. After they broke apart, Sansa exclaimed, “I must go to thank Hrolf for allowing me to live in Runa’s cottage.”

  “No!” gasped Merra, standing up. “No, Jeyne, don’t. Leave him alone. Tomorrow, when you go to read to him you can thank him. Please, listen to me this time. Wait till tomorrow.”

  She thought about it for a moment. “All right, but you still won’t tell anyone about how all this came to be, will you?”

  Merra laughed. “I won’t. Barli wouldn’t believe me if I did, and the master wouldn’t like it. Don’t worry Jeyne.”

  “Thank you for backing me up, Merra.”

  “You’re welcome, lass,” the woman replied, grinning proudly.

  Sansa returned the cook’s smile, noticing that dusk was still a couple of hours away. When Merra left her, and as the light of day faded around her in the bedroom, Sansa returned to her bed. She was very happy, but time crept slowly as she waited for Sandor to come back from Munne. Before she knew it, sleep had become heavy on her and her eyelids refused to stay open.

 

***

 

  Sandor opened the door to the room he shared with Sansa, and found her sleeping. He smirked. The sun had just set and the bedroom was quickly getting dark. He closed the door behind him and walked up to the bed, watching over Sansa for a moment. _Pretty little bird_ , he thought again. Her gown clung to her body, throwing into prominence the outline of her long legs, the curve of her hips and her narrow waist.

  Lying on his side, he climbed into the bed slowly, wondering about what the best way to wake the little bird could be. Her back was to him, her hands hidden below the feather pillow, and she was breathing with her mouth slightly open. Suddenly aware that he _could_ touch her if he wanted to without fear of denial, Sandor rested one hand on her waist and the other on her thigh, and lowered himself till he was able to place a kiss on Sansa’s hip, aware that the heat on his neck was increasing. She smelled sweet.

  The little bird stirred beside him, as her eyes fluttered open. Sandor watched her turning around so that she could get a good look at him, but didn’t move either his hand or his face.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice a low rumble in his throat. _Gods, I can’t believe she is mine. She really does want me as much as I want her, and willingly_.

  Sansa’s threw her arms around his neck in a warm embrace. It felt like coming home. No one but her had smiled at seeing like this just for his return, not since he was a boy. When he had first seen Joff’s betrothed, he’d scoffed, knowing she would grow up to become like one of those empty cold women at court. He’d soon seen that she was different. She was unaware of the world, and of what she was getting herself into as Sandor watched her smiling at Joffrey with naivety and innocence. _But the way she now smiles at me is full of love and certainty and fulfillment, and that’s all I need_. He’d never had a woman look at him like this, but it was not hard to know what the light in Sansa’s eyes meant.

  “I missed you,” she said, and clung to him closer as if she hadn’t seen him in a year instead of only just this morning.

  He returned her hug, and kissed her cheek when they drew apart.

  “I got something for you.”

  Sandor rummaged in his pouch for his gift, and was pleased with himself when Sansa exclaimed that she loved his present. He had found in one of the market stalls a small comb with a baby pearl attached to it as decoration, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d bought it for Sansa, hoping she would like it.

 “Sandor, it’s _so_ lovely, thank you so much,” she kissed him. “But–but should you be spending your winnings on this?”

  _No_ , he thought, but instead said, “All right. I won’t get you anything else for a long time.”

  “I will cherish it,” she promised, propping herself up on her elbows. “How was the fair?”

  He shrugged. “Noisy and dirty, and that village reeks of fish. I would’ve rather stayed here with you.”

  Sansa chuckled, her white teeth flashing. “I would’ve rather gone with you.”

  “ _That_ bad was your day?” he asked, amused.

  Sansa’s eyes searched his before she replied, “Not at all. It was bad because I missed you, but it was also grand because I have a gift for you too.”

  Sandor raised his eyebrow, surprised. “You do?”

  “It’s more like good tidings, but yes. Guess who is going to live in the cottage by the sea?”

  _Bloody hells, she did it_ , he couldn’t help but think. “Fuck, you mean that you actually convinced the old bugger to let you live there?”

  Sansa laughed softly. “Sort of. I suggested it to him, but was refused. And when Merra went to take Hrolf his dinner, he apparently asked her what she thought of it, and when she said that there could be nothing wrong with us living there, he finally agreed to it.”

  Sandor stared at Sansa in silence, glad to see her so happy and surprised at what she’d ended up accomplishing against all odds. There was a light in her eyes that he hadn’t seen in them for a long time. And yet, a new thought occurred to him.

  “How did the bastard react when he refused you? He didn’t insult you, did he?”

  Sansa shook her head. “No, he did not insult me. He isn’t so bad, you know. Merra told me everything about his daughter, and now I can sympathize with him much more.”

  “It’s no hair off my arse what happened to his daughter, or if you can sympathize with him or not, Sansa. Just as long as he–”

  She interrupted with a brittle laugh. “You’re being silly. I mean, yes he _is_ rude, but so were you with me when we first met if I recall correctly—and still are, in a way. And look at how far we’ve come now.”

  All of a sudden, Sandor began to laugh at that. “Fuck me, but I guess you’re right, little bird. I hadn’t thought of it like that before.”

  That night, everyone seemed happier than usual, but Sandor knew it was Sansa’s joy that was affecting Barli, Edar and Merra, and even himself. It was hard not to smile back at the little bird when she was chirping away about all the preparations for the days ahead with the moving. She was so happy that she even offered to mend Hagen’s black clothes for him, after the idiot tore his shirt back in Munne in a fight. He’d had to separate him from his opponent after Barli practically begged him to do it. _Fucking crazy, looking for a fight when he has an arm broken._

  “So, if Jeyne and Byan are leaving for the cottage, can I move into their bedroom?” Edar asked Merra.

  “Why would you want to move to their bedroom when you don’t even sleep on a bed?” Old Barli wondered.

  The bandit shrugged. “It’s a room with a view. The one I’m in now doesn’t have that. I’ve spent too long away from the sea. It’s calling me home.”

  Sandor stared with incredulity at Edar. _The sea is calling him home. He sounds like a bloody iron squid_.

  “Madman,” Sandor rasped, turning to look at Sansa, who was wearing the comb he’d given her in her hair. She beamed at him, making him cough down his beef and rare stew when she surprised him by resting her hand above his knee, their legs pressed close against the other. He quickly took a drink of his cup of wine.

 

***

 

  When Sansa knocked on Hrolf’s doors, she closed her eyes, her heart beating nervously in her chest. She looked around the dark chamber, but there was no sight of the master of the castle.

  “I’m here,” called Hrolf. He was standing on his stone balcony, staring out at the sea. Sansa stepped outside, fleetingly registering that the landscape from here was breathtaking. The sea and the lands beyond the castle were before her, imposing in their natural beauty.

  “Good morning,” she said, and her voice came out like a whisper.

  Hrolf turned around to regard her silently for a moment. “Continue where we left off yesterday, girl.”

  Sansa nodded, relieved that the old man didn’t sound angry at her. _It’s just as every other day_. She whirled around, and was about to step through the threshold when she recalled her courtesies and the tragic story Runa had suffered.

  Hrolf raised his eyebrow at her inquiringly; she took a deep breath and said clearly, “Thank you.”

  His lined face was hard to read. It betrayed no expression, yet Sansa was getting used to his strange moods and knew that silence with Hrolf often meant a good thing, so she turned around again and headed for the bookcase, a small smile appearing on her face.

  It took one whole week for the cottage to be ready for Sandor and Sansa to live in it. It could’ve taken less if Sandor, Edar and Barli didn’t have tasks to accomplish daily, but nonetheless every day they were all able to spare a time to help with the moving. Sansa and Merra saw how they took a wagon down to the beach, and started loading the boxes and toys which had been piled inside the little house after their owner had died away at sea.

  Once they had taken the wagon back up to the castle, they had to climb up as they carried the heavy belongings till they reached Runa’s rooms, to store them away in there. Old Hrolf never left his rooms to supervise that the men were treating the boxes and furniture gently, but Sansa suspected that when the castle was asleep, he would go to his daughter’s bedroom to see the gifts he’d given her over the years as she grew up.

  Hrolf never asked her about the proceedings with the moving either. Her readings to him remained just as aloof and icily polite as ever, but Sansa couldn’t judge the master of the castle anymore now that she understood why he was so gruff and bitter. So she took care of only reading to him, and bidding him a good day whenever the hour to read to him came to an end. 

  Once Sandor and the others had cleared the cottage, only a bed, the small chimney, and a wooden table remained inside the house. Sansa and Merra washed and cleaned the place, for it was so dusty; and a day later, the men brought along the mattress they’d been sleeping on, as well as a chamber pot, furs, pillows, wood for the hearth and a couple of chairs.

 Sansa tried to make the cottage look pretty, decorating it with her and Sandor’s scarce belongings. They weren’t many, but it helped a little. She would’ve brought flowers inside as well, only they were none to be found in the surroundings, so she settled for a few seashells.

  In the end, it was still a rather plain and simple little wooden house by the sea, but to Sansa it was beautiful. After a week from the day Merra the cook had convinced Hrolf to allow them to live here, and two weeks after they’d first arrived at the castle, Sandor and Sansa stood looking at the cottage in front of them, with Hagen Edar, Barli and his wife already heading back to the castle, happy with what their help had accomplished, but tired while a dying sunset illuminated the horizon.

  Sansa slipped her hand in Sandor’s and said, “This is home.”

  He snarled, “For a while at least it is.”

  She was aware of how much she’d changed since she had arrived in Essos in that moment. Once, the thought of living in this place even for a few weeks would’ve been upsetting, because she longed for a great keep or a castle to move to, but now, since Winterfell was still not possible for her, Sansa was already treasuring this cottage.

  “You did a good job with it,” Sandor remarked. “I barely recognize it.”

  Sansa smiled, pleased with the praise. “You helped as well, as did the others. Come, let’s enter our home.”

  She led the way up the few stairs to the veranda, and with a quick look behind her at the ocean, she stepped inside the wooden house, smiling, looking around her as if this was the first time she’d ever entered it.

  The small fireplace was before her, with a few old moth eaten carpets scattered on the floor. To her right was the small room where the wooden table and the chairs had been placed, and to her left was the small bedroom, comprised of a bed and a water basin alone. Their saddlebags had been laid in one corner, and there was a small stool where several candles and candleholders had been placed. There was one window in the bedroom and one window in the room with the table and chairs, and that was it.

  _We don’t need much,_ she thought, gazing around at the humble place _. We’ll only spend our spare moments here, as well as our nights_. Sansa had thought of having a tub to bathe in here as well, and had gone as far as finding a small wooden one that wouldn’t be too difficult to bring down all the way from the old castle, until Barli had asked her if she was planning on walking all that way herself with heavy wooden pails filled with water to fill the tub with.

  “You could warm the water up in the fireplace, but there is no way you or Byan will want to bathe every day if this is the only way to do so,” the man had remarked, crashing Sansa’s hopes.

  “The nights are going to be cold here,” Sandor observed, as the wind shook the shutters for a moment.

  “It’s a good thing I still have your nameday gift for me, isn’t it?” Sansa said, looking over at the fur trimmed coat Sandor had given her in Norvos. It was beautiful and was not meant to be worn to help keep her warm while she slept, but she knew Sandor wouldn’t mind her wearing it in the nights.

  “And what about me?” he asked, leaning across the windowpane. “Am I to sleep with my armour on to try and keep the bloody cold away?”

  Sansa laughed. “I do not believe you mind the cold, otherwise you wouldn’t insist on swimming in the sea. I don’t know how you manage it. I can barely keep my feet in the freezing water. It’s called the Shivering Sea for a reason, you know.”

  Over the past week, Sandor had gone off to swim in the ocean almost every day at sunset, shrugging when Sansa refused to join him in the cold sea. Her eyes would follow his bare back as they narrowed with suspicion, wondering if he knew the effect that sight had on her.

  “What if you drown out there?” she had called after him once, as her eyes settled on the silvery and red scars that decorated his magnificent back.

  Sandor had turned around and rasped, “I’m a strong swimmer, little bird, and I hardly enter the bay. Stop worrying.”

  Sandor laughed at her remarks now, and straightened up from the window, saying, “I’ll just have to steal down some more furs and blankets from the castle. There is a whole storage of them in a room in the second floor. I guess it’ll be good practice for when we’re living in the North.”

  Her blue eyes fell on a pretty light golden veil which had been left behind during the moving. She placed it in front of her face, peering at Sandor through it with one eye closed.

  “How long do you think we’re going to stay here?” she asked him.

  “I reckon two more weeks. Three at the most. We should gain as much as we can, so that it lasts us till we reach Lorath.”

  Sansa nodded, lowering the veil. She’d take it back with her when they went up to the castle for dinner, and give it to Merra. “And from there straight to Braavos, right?”

  Sandor fixed his grey eyes on hers. They already told her the answer, but he nonetheless nodded and growled, “Anywhere you want to go, I’ll follow Sansa. But you must know that the Spider will surely have eyes and ears in that Free City, more than in any other.”

  _Lord Varys_. She shuddered. “Maybe once we are in Lorath we can send word to my family at last, and they can commission for a ship to take us back North.”

  In the quiet of the cabin, Sandor regarded her slowly from feet to head before saying, “It’ll be good if that were to happen, but it isn’t likely. If we are going to Braavos, we must earn more, and try not to spend much in Lorath so we can survive once we arrive at the Secret City.”

  “Hagen said we can stay with him at his relative’s house once we arrive in Lorath,” Sansa reminded him. “We won’t have to pay for our stay there, if that is the case.” _And he said his house is more cheerful than this old castle._ _I wonder why he left it. Why did he take so long in deciding it was time to go home_? Sansa thought she already knew the answers to those questions.

  “Let’s just hope this Bryar isn’t as mad as him, or it’ll start rubbing off on us,” Sandor rasped deeply.

  Sansa giggled and stepped up to embrace Sandor, her arms around his waist, as he tucked her under his chin.

  “I’m already mad,” she admitted, as she pressed her cheek against his hard comforting chest, taking in the way he smelled–of leather and dirt, earth and horses, sweat and wine–for these smells always appealed to something deep inside her. She raised her face to look up at him, taking in Sandor’s strong jaw line, his heavy brow, his hooked nose, his strong Northern looks.

  She saw the way he gulped then, the muscles of his neck moving strongly, and felt the way his large hands dug into the flesh of her back for a moment. He grimaced and remarked, “Then we are lost. You’re supposed to be the sensible one here, and instead you go and fall for a scarred ugly dog whom nothing nor anyone in this world will keep away from you.”

  Sansa drew back, puzzled. She blinked and said, “You know I do not see it that way. And neither do you.”

  “No, but your kingly brother’s bannermen will,” Sandor pointed out. “And while I couldn’t care less what those northern whoresons thought of me, I won’t stand for them talking about you and the former Lannister Hound.”

  She’d known this all along, and had still made her choice. “Let them say what they will. It may not be very sensible, but I’ve made up my mind to be with you, Sandor. No one can ever change that. No amount of gossip or–”

  “Or the horrified faces of your family?” he wanted to know, pressing the matter forward. “You don’t mind it if they end up exiling you for wishing to be with me?”

  A small smile appeared on her face at that. She shook her head. “Mother and Robb will certainly not approve, but they aren’t the Lannisters. They won’t turn their backs on me–on _us_ –for this.”

  “You know it won’t be that easy, Sansa.”

  She nodded, and explained further, “They will be very displeased with me, I’m sure. But, in the end, I _know_ it in my heart they will accept the idea of us together, and maybe in time–when spring comes again, things will be better for us all and worrying about all of this will be in the past.”

  She could see easily the effect her words had on him. Sansa looked at the way his burned features changed, realizing that she would stand firm in her determination and wish of being with him forever. _No one has ever done anything like this for him, and he knows it, too. He is overwhelmed_. No one had ever done for her as much as Sandor had since he took her away from King’s Landing. _Not even Robb lifted a finger to help me_.

  With a warm smile and a full heart, Sansa reached out for Sandor’s large hand and raised it to her mouth, silently kissing the inside of his calloused palm and the curve of his bent fingers.

  Sandor let out a small grunt, staring intently at her gentle administrations, she seriously regarding the beautiful intimacy she could share with her big man. And then, with their eyes never leaving each other’s faces, Sandor bent down and kissed her parted lips for a slow moment. Her heart stopped as she drowned in the grey waters of his eyes, unable to move. She could only kiss him in return. She loved Sandor, simple as that. And there are no rules to dictate what one should feel.

  “It is getting late”, Sansa commented, glancing through the window. Evening shadows were already descending upon the cottage.

  “We should go to the castle,” he told her, straightening up, pulling at a curl of her auburn hair.

  Sansa nodded, content. “Yes, Merra asked me to help her prepare the feast.”

  Sandor’s eyes grew wide. “I won’t object to that only because I know your cooking isn’t _that_ bad.”

  She knew it was not ladylike at all, but couldn’t help pinching him on his arm, as a smile appeared on her face. “What is that supposed to mean, exactly?”

  “You already know the answer to that,” he said, laughing with her in that rasping, raucous laughter of his.

  They walked across the deserted beach, holding hands in what would’ve been a silent twilight had it not been for the roaring of the thundering waves. By the time they reached the shortcut, the stone stairs were already covered in an afternoon mist that was slowly drifting up to envelop the castle above.

  Dinner that night wasn’t really what one would call a proper feast. Not if you were comparing it with the feasts Sansa had attended in Winterfell or King’s Landing, but it was nonetheless a very merry night, for they had all decided to celebrate the end of the moving with some of the cook’s best dishes. The old master of the castle didn’t make his presence known in the kitchens, and since his dark chambers were very far away, they were all allowed to make much more noise than they usually did.

  Barli at one point brought in his flute and delighted them all with the tunes he knew from his homeland, while Hagen Edar, a Lorathi as well, started singing out loud the ones he could remember. Sandor admitted, through the bad singing and the even worse music the other men were making, that the food had turned out to be really good. Sansa had helped Merra prepare a rich cream and two different sauces, while the cook busied herself with spicy lamb meatballs and a roasted chicken flavored with onions, garlic, mushrooms and garnishes.

  Sansa suggested that they should all start dancing as she heard Barli play the flute. She hadn’t drunk much of the wine they were all having tonight, but everyone else had. Hagen at once lifted a blushing and laughing Merra to her feet, and swirled her around the kitchen floor to her husband and Sansa’s delight.

  She had looked hopefully at Sandor for a moment, but his brooding expression left her in no doubt that he was not going to dance with her. That didn’t stop her from accepting Hagen’s offer when he proposed to dance with her instead.

  The poor outlaw had two left feet though. He exclaimed that back in Norvos he had been a skilled dancer, and seemed very proud of himself as he moved her about from one corner to the next. Sansa didn’t have the heart to tell him that he danced appallingly. Sandor glared sullenly at them as they danced, but didn’t say anything. When the tune was done, the outlaw stole the flute from Barli and told him it was his turn to show them all his dancing skills. Barli danced with his wife and Sansa in turn as well.

  The cook’s wife was an even worse dancer than Hagen Edar, but she laughed happily and openly nonetheless. After three dances, her cheeks were red, and realizing that it would be rude to leave Sandor alone all through the night, she went back to sit beside him, kissing him quickly in front of everyone. She giggled and his mouth began to twitch.

  Two afternoons later, Sansa was sitting barefooted on the front steps to the cottage, mending the outlaw’s black shirt, while Sandor preferred to sit on a chair on the veranda next to the door. She knew he was watching her work instead of staring out at the sea, and she didn’t mind it one bit. The beautiful comb with the baby pearl Sandor had given her about a week ago was in her hair. A seagull cried out as it flew across the sky, and the tumbling waves were soothing to hear. Sandor had been right when he said the nights in the little wooden house would be very cold, but the chilling night air only made her remember nights long ago spent with her brothers and sister around the fire, and in the end it didn’t really bother her so much.

  Right now she was prattling on and on to Sandor about some of her memories from Winterfell as she sewed the black fabric together with thread and needle.

  “Arya _hated_ doing needlework,” she recalled. “But Septa Mordane and Mother were adamant that she should try to improve her stitches and–”

  “Why didn’t you offer to help her?” her big man asked her from behind.

  Sansa blushed guiltily as she remembered how Jeyne Poole and little Beth Cassel had called her sister Horseface. “Well, we didn’t really get along back then.”

  She chanced a look at Sandor as he said, “So the little bird wanted to kill the she-wolf? Seems to me we have something in common, since I’ve always wanted to kill Gregor.”

  The shudder that ran through her body at those words was not something Sansa cared to dwell upon. The horrible Mountain was far away. Once they were back in Westeros, she would try to convince Sandor to let the past go for his own sake, but she knew that if she told him that now, he would get angry at her. _I just hope Gregor is dead by the time we go back_.

  “I didn’t want to _kill_ Arya,” Sansa admitted. “Not really.”  Now her little ferocious sister was most likely dead. Sansa tried to hide her smile as she imagined what Arya would say if she were to hear she had fallen in love with The Hound. “And I am a she-wolf too, you know.”

  Sandor grinned at her but didn’t answer. A short while later, Hagen’s shirt was almost as good as new.

  “Done,” she said excitedly, extending the shirt before her. “How does it look?”

  “All right,” Sandor remarked with a glance at the dark fabric.

  Sansa smiled, pleased with her needlework as she stood up. “Do you have any shirts that need mending?”

  He stretched his arms behind his head, shaking it as he said, “Don’t think so, little bird.”

  Sansa turned around and climbed up the remaining three steps up to the veranda, her feet touching the wood lightly. She was passing by Sandor’s chair, heading towards the open front door, when her breath caught on her throat as he suddenly yanked her by the arm towards him.

  She landed right on his legs in a quick movement, but he had fast reflects and had already intended to catch her before she could lose her balance, breaking her fall. After the first moment of surprise, she noticed that he had one of his strong arms supporting her behind her back, his hand resting on her arm, while his other arm was thrown carelessly over her legs. One of her hands had landed on his chest, while the other was clinging to him behind his neck.

  Sandor was laughing at her surprised expression, his eyes regarding her with amusement.  “And where do you think you’re going, _she-wolf_?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Inside for my slippers.” She glanced at the floor and saw that Edar’s black shirt was lying on the ground.

  “No, you’re not,” he growled grinning, seeing her blushing as she remembered that she was sitting on his lap. The touch of her hand on his chest, above his strong beating heart beneath the scratchy tunic, made her notice in the silence that followed the powerful male body beneath hers.

  “Haven’t you heard what dogs do to wolves?” he continued.

  Sansa didn’t answer him. Instead, they stared deep into each other’s eyes for a moment, and then Sandor moved his free hand to hers. He brought it forward and lowered his eyes to it, before kissing the smooth skin of her wrist. It was a simple gesture of affection, but Sansa was holding her breath nonetheless. When he released her hand, out of its own accord, Sansa brought her fingertips to Sandor’s burned lips, brushing them lightly. She was a little surprised when he opened his mouth and bit her fingertip, gently grazing it with his teeth.

  Her lips parted, her eyes fixed on her finger partly inside his mouth, not even really feeling or noticing the way he was caressing soothing circles on her arm. After he released her finger, Sansa couldn’t help it. With eyes wide open she writhed a little closer to him and placed her lips above his. She let her tongue trace his lips before he opened his mouth. Their hot breaths mingled, and then he was doing the same thing to hers, an intense desire in his grey eyes.

  She couldn’t think properly, so instead she closed her eyes and kissed Sandor deeply, her arms thrown around his neck. After a slow sweet moment, she felt the arm he was using to support her sliding down, till it rested against the small of her back. Sandor then brought his large hand to cup her bottom, making Sansa’s heart race as she gasped into the kiss, her eyes flowing open. She was met with his close grey stare, their mouths still upon the other, and in that moment Sansa knew that if she didn’t want him to continue, she could simply tell him and he would stop. _He would respect my wish, but I don’t want him to take his hand away_.

  After a moment of getting used to the thought and the feeling of what he was doing, she began to kiss him again, slowly, and he let out a grunt. Sandor shifted his weight on the wooden chair, his hips jerking upwards a little, but it was enough for her to feel Sandor’s manhood below her.

  She let out a concupiscent moan in reaction to that just as a loud cheerful voice called, “Hello!”

  They drew apart instantly. She gasped out loud in surprise, and quickly stood up from Sandor’s lap. Turning around, she saw Hagen Edar walking across the beach towards their cabin, waving at them in greeting. She blushed when she looked down before her and met her lover’s eyes. He looked angry.

  “I’m going to kill that fucking idiot!” he rasped loudly, looking at the outlaw.

  Sansa was still startled from their abrupt interruption, so with her cheeks flushed, she entered the house to go look for her slippers without a word. _Gods be good, I hope Hagen couldn’t get a good look at us_ , she thought, embarrassed. What had just happened between her and Sandor was marvelous, but it was only meant to be witnessed by them alone.

 

***

 

  Sandor stood up once the little bird ran inside the house, red as a pomegranate. _I’m going to kill that fucking idiot_ , he’d rasped, and he meant it. Bloody hells, he wanted to strangle Edar with his own guts for interrupting him and Sansa. One moment, he had her in his arms, sitting on his lap, as she drove him mad with her kisses, and her acceptance of his hand around her firm round arse, and the next they were breaking apart because the thrice-damned outlaw was calling to them, a smile plastered on his bloody face. He was actually shaking slightly with fury as he heard the little bird inside looking for her shoes.

  “Ah, Byan,” Hagen said airily, climbing up the stairs to the veranda. “Merra sent me to tell Jeyne that she’s about to cook dinner.”

  Sansa had decided to help the cook prepare dinner every night in an attempt to occupy her time. She was even getting paid for it.

  He clenched and unclenched his fists; throwing a look at his longsword propped against the wall on the floor, he snarled, “I’ll tell her. Now go back the way you came from.”

  But bloody Edar wasn’t listening to him. “Oh, my shirt!” he exclaimed, leaning down to grab the dark tunic from the floor. “What is it doing down here? Ah, I can see Jeyne has mended it.”

  They heard the front door open and Sandor turned around quickly as Sansa stepped outside. She looked much more put together than when she’d dashed inside, but her cheeks were still red. Her eyes met his momentarily before turning to the bandit.

  “Thank you, Jeyne!” he said. “It looks very good. I promise that if I get into a fight again, I’ll try not to have it torn so much.”

  “It was nothing, Hagen,” the little bird chirped, lowering her gaze.

  “Merra is about to start cooking,” Hagen went on, oblivious to the tense air between Sandor and Sansa.

  “Oh, I–I should better be on my way,” she said, walking down the stairs. When she was on the beach, she turned her head up and asked, “Aren’t you coming?”

  “In a moment,” Sandor answered, hoarsely.

  Sansa nodded and seemed to make up her mind. She threw him a flashing smile full of promise before she began walking away, heading towards the old castle, leaving him alone in the cottage with the outlaw. Sandor gaze trailed after the little bird walking away upon the beach.

  “She is very beautiful, and she really loves you, you know,” a voice said behind him, making Sandor look away from Sansa. He turned around to see that Edar was also staring at her retreating back, with an expression Sandor had never seen before in a man, but which he suspected had been in his own burned face a moment ago.

  _I know she does_ , he almost said out loud. _I saw it in her eyes just now_. _She wanted me before you came to interrupt, idiot_. But it was even more than the boundary they had crossed moments ago in their relationship what assured him of her love for him. It was the awareness, in the back of his mind, that Sansa would’ve married Arman Nervere so she could have her husband spare his life had things turned out bad for them during his trial–it was the knowledge that now he was certain the little bird _would_ face her kingly brother and her mother if they opposed them being together.

  The outlaw continued, “I can see it in her eyes whenever she looks at you, and hear it in her voice when she talks to you or about you. Even a blind man would know.” Hagen turned his dark eyes to look at Sandor. “But you are just as lost, dour burned man. Your eyes follow her everywhere.”

  Sandor shot a withering glance at Edar, for once at a loss for words. Hagen turned around to stare at the sea with a heavy sigh, and remarked, “I don’t know what’s happened to you two, but you are a very lucky man, for she is young and full of life. You cannot even begin to imagine what it feels like to have the one you love die. If you really care for Jeyne, be sure to let her know often. I never told Sinan as much as I should have. Adore Jeyne. Take care of her.”

  Sandor gulped. _Fuck_. He still wanted to strangle the madman, but after what Edar had just said, he realized that he was actually grateful for his words. They had been meaningful and honest. Remembering the crazy behavior in which Hagen had behaved after learning of Nervere’s death, Sandor ventured in, “That man–the one you wanted to kill after he exiled you from Norvos–did he had anything to do with your wife’s death?”

  He wasn’t sure that Edar would answer him, and after a moment the bandit turned around to face him again, shaking his head. He spat in a bitter tone, “No, he didn’t kill her. She was sick, that’s why she died. No, I hate Arman Nervere because thanks to him I couldn’t be beside Sinan on her deathbed, as she left this world. He may be dead as well now, but I will never forgive that worm for that. He knew she was dying and wouldn’t allow me to enter his city. I–I couldn’t even be present when her family buried her. I had to learn of her death from a friend of mine who showed compassion on me and sent me word of it as I waited in the Hills of Norvos.”

  Sandor stood uncomfortably on the veranda, unsure as to what he should do or say next. _I could’ve been in his position_ , he realized. _I would’ve been exiled from Norvos and unable to help Sansa if she had married Arman_. _Gods, if the little bird were to die_ … Sandor couldn’t even finish that thought.

  He shifted his weight from his right leg to the left one and rasped, “I’m sorry, Edar.”

  The outlaw nodded, drying a tear from his eyes, and said, “Just promise you’ll take care of Jeyne. She is a good woman.”

  “I know she is. I will do anything for her,” Sandor said without hesitation, leaving Hagen in no doubt about it.

  “Good,” Edar replied, already heading down the front steps, clutching his mended dark shirt in his hand. “We should go back to the castle now. I wasn’t supposed to delay. Merra will be so angry she’ll set me to wash the dishes again.”

  Sandor still didn’t know _why_ Hagen Edar had clashed with Nervere in the first place, but he knew that this talk about the outlaw’s past life in Norvos was done for today. The sun was going down as he strode across the beach, following the footprints Sansa had left upon the sand earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for wishing me good luck at Uni! The first week back was great (: Hope you are all doing great and many thanks for reading! Please review if you feel like it x)


	31. The Cottage by the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> *Thank you for everything girls: onborrowedwings & nysandra!! :D   
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

  The rest of Sandor and Sansa’s stay in the castle passed by the same way their first weeks there had. They both accomplished their tasks without a word of protest, and before they knew it, a month had come and gone. Four weeks in which they had earned coin to buy passage for themselves and their horses, and still had more than enough to see them through for a short stay at Lorath and Braavos.

  By the end of the first month, Hagen Edar was also anxious to finally set off for his homeland, and when he brought up the matter one morning during breakfast to Sansa and Sandor, they both agreed that the time had come to leave the old castle.

  Sansa had regained her spirits and strength during the past few weeks, and was now eager to set out upon their new journey; one that would take her a step closer to her home and her long awaited reunion with her family. She was looking forward to seeing Lorath with her own eyes after the outlaw spent countless evenings telling everyone about that fabled land. The one thing that dampened Sansa’s spirits was the thought of leaving the cottage by the sea, in which her and Sandor had grown even more in love, as they gave in and trusted the other with sweet words, eager caresses, new little intimate gestures, or kisses, both gentle and passionate, during the long and cold nights on the beach: moments that never failed to take her breath away whenever she found herself musing about them during the day as she helped Merra cook, or whenever she had a spare moment to herself. It was always new and exciting and different to them both, this affair of being in love. _It doesn’t matter where I am as long as Sandor is beside me_ , she realized one day. _We can have the life we knew here in the North too._ And even more than that one day.

  Sansa had started imagining her future, and the thought of one day having babies with Sandor made her feel butterflies in her tummy. She had taken to admiring him in a new light as she imagined how their children would look. _They won’t come any time soon, but that doesn’t mean I can’t picture us in our future_ , she reasoned to the practical side of her conscience. Sansa knew that they still had a long road ahead of them before they could begin to form a family–many ordeals to overcome–but for the present she was deciding to forget them, because these days in the old castle with Sandor had been too good to let any thought or memory of who they really were ruin these moments.

  Despite the monotony of life at Hrolf’s castle, and the slow way in which the days passed by, Sansa had found happiness and love and fun, and somehow the world and life had become more beautiful to her. During the fifth and last week of their stay, Edar and Sandor spent most of their free time going over details of the journey with Barli.

  “We’re going to travel to the east, and then turn north to this town here,” Barli told them in the cavernous kitchen one day, pointing at an old map of the Bay of Lorath. “It’s the biggest village around these parts and the only place where there are real ships to be found. I will accompany you while I search for another girl to read to the master. Hopefully they won’t have heard of his black reputation that far from Munne.”

  Sansa had been intending to let Merra tell Hrolf herself about her departure, but one morning the old man surprised her by saying, “So, I hear you and your companions are to leave in less than two weeks, girl.”

  She had looked up from her reading a little startled. “Yes, we–we will have earned enough coin by then.”

  Hrolf regarded her with those hard green eyes of his for a moment, and waved at her to go on reading about ship lore. If he was sorry to part with the girl that read to him, whom he disliked less than all the others, he didn’t show it. Merra and Barli were mostly sad to see them go, but everyone had always known since the beginning that this arrangement wasn’t going to last long, and so they all ended up coping with it in good spirits, determined to make the last weeks the less gloomy possible.

 

***

 

  Sandor woke up at dawn on the morning of their departure. He opened his eyes and found himself looking up at the wooden ceiling of the cabin, and with a yawn he ran his hand down his face, shaking away his sleep, gathering his strength for the journey ahead. Then he looked around to find that Sansa was not sleeping beside him.

  _Where has the little bird flown to?_ He wondered, puzzled, gazing at the place on the pillow where she had rested her head during the night. Sandor got out of bed and didn’t even bother putting on his boots. He went to the front door and stepped out to the veranda, the sight and the sound of the waves before him bringing him back memories of trips to Lannisport with his grandfather. _He wanted to distract me in the months mother was sick as she carried Arwyn, and get me away from Gregor as often as he could_.

  Well, at least now he had more memories on the beach he could look back on in the years to come–memories shared with Sansa. His eyes had finally caught sight of her, sitting on a blanket a short distance away from the house, staring at the sea, her auburn hair standing vividly against the colors around her.

  _This is what I live for now_ , he thought, in a sort of daze, his stare fixed on the woman he loved. _She’s given my life a meaning, a purpose. I didn’t have any fucking right to being with someone like her, and yet here we are now_. They had seen each other at their lowest, most vulnerable moments–his when he went to her bedroom reeking of blood and wine and vomit and who knew what else–and hers when the Kingsguard and Joffrey beat her bloody. Sandor didn’t think he would ever forgive himself for simply standing by and letting them hurt her like that, but as he looked across the sand at the bird with the loose auburn hair blowing in the wind behind her, their lives back at King’s Landing didn’t matter for a moment.

  Sandor had come to understand during the past month that being in love wasn’t a matter of whether or not he deserved Sansa–because he knew he didn’t. Sansa had chosen him, knowing perfectly well that he was far from being the sort of man she had once wanted, and had still gone ahead and bound herself to him. _She had a choice. I didn’t deny her that. She had a choice, and I would’ve respected it whatever the outcome_. He grinned, because he was bloody pleased with how things had turned out.

  He and Sansa were both different now. They had changed and grown, and learned to forgive and forget and so much else, and the last weeks here in this place with her had been too sodding good. Simple as that.

  He remembered that before she came along, he had scoffed at the very thought of living with a wife in some holdfast, wasting away his days in her company, going mad–and most likely with a woman who was terrified of him. Yet this time with the little bird in this deserted place had been one of the happiest times of his life–if not _the_ happiest. _And there’s more to look forward to._

  He rested his elbows on the balustrade of the veranda, lost in thought, still watching her as she took off her shoes and buried her bare feet on the sand. _Now that we are going out into the world again we must be careful,_ he suddenly recalled, wary.  _Sansa seems to think that once we reach her family everything will be all right, but before we even get word to Robb Stark a hundred things could go bloody wrong_. Braavos was what scared him most at the moment. That Free fucking City would be bursting with the eunuch’s little birds, but Braavos was the only place for them to go if they wanted to return to Westeros.

  Sandor wasn’t _as_ inclined to go North as Sansa, but he knew she longed to see her family and he wouldn’t take that away from her. _She belongs there, and she has a home to look forward to returning to_. What did he have if not her?

  _My fucking brother._ There was Gregor to reckon with when they went back to Westeros. If his shit of a brother was still alive, then Sandor would have to leave Sansa for a time to go and finish him off once and for all. Sandor hoped that Gregor was still alive if only for the sweet pleasure of killing him himself at long last. _I won’t let him go on living, he poses a threat to Sansa now… and to the family we could have one day_.

  _A family. Fuck._ Pups with the little bird, and him as their father. Sandor ran his hand through his shoulder-length dark hair, trying to get used to what that would _mean_. A year ago, he had been alone, and now the thought of seeing his sons grow tall and strong, and siring daughters as pretty as the little bird made his heart thump fast, and made him look forward to that with a strange sense of pride. But children wouldn’t come for a while, he had been trying to make sure of that. In the past weeks, it had been a bloody ordeal to stay in this cabin with the little bird by night. Her kisses drove him to distraction, and her acceptance of his hands on her was as sweet as it was a torture for him. More than once he’d thought of taking her, or at least of pleasuring her in some way, yet he knew that if he did the latter he wouldn’t be able to control himself in time, and there was still much to consider that made it hard for him to forget that. _Seven hells, if she makes me feel like a green boy just with her kisses, how am I to stand it if I give in completely?_

  He didn’t know the buggering herbs needed for preparing moon tea, and was certain the little bird didn’t have a clue either. _What if I get her with child?_ They were practically a few short steps above being beggars for the time being, and the truth was that he cared too much for her good name to simply take her and cast away to seven hells all consequences. Sure, he could spill his seed on her belly, but when Sandor finally had her, he wanted it to be something neither of them had to be cautious about, or something where the consequences couldn’t mean making love would be a bad decision. _I never had someone like her in my life. I’m not going to fuck this up again,_ he promised himself, remembering what his thoughtless actions after Arman Nervere had kissed Sansa had almost cost them both _. I’m going to take proper care of this matter and do it right._

  He knew that doing it right would mean marriage. He knew that Sansa wanted to get married, and while Sandor would’ve been content with marrying her this very day by whatever gods the people of Munne believed in just for her sake, a young woman in the little bird’s position was expected to marry by the gods she’d been raised to believe in, in a ceremony with witnesses and papers that would make everyone who sought to bring them apart unable to do so. _Better if she is Sansa Clegane for the entire world to see instead of just Sansa Stark, the lady who fucks her sworn shield. That way, any bloody fools wishing to win her over for her claim and title will think about it twice before trying anything with her_. And if they married, well and proper, no one would be able to call Sansa a whore, or their children bastards. _When we have settled in the North, we will have a proper home to raise our pups at._

  Stretching his arms behind his head, Sandor finally made his way down the front steps of the veranda, and walked across the beach to where Sansa was sitting, as lost in her thoughts as he had been in his, for she didn’t hear him till he was beside her. “What are you doing here, little bird?”

  Sansa looked up at him, clearly surprised that she hadn’t heard him. “Oh, good morning, Sandor. You startled me.”

  “Couldn’t you sleep?” he asked, gazing down at her, noticing she had already changed into a simple wool dress as her hand reached out to pat the space on the blanket beside her, inviting him to join her.

  “No, it isn’t that. I–I just wanted to come here to think and–and memorize this place. Recall how it looks, and sounds and smells, and how it was to live here with you.”

  Sandor shook his head, but ended up sitting down on the large blanket beside her and giving her a quick warm kiss on the nose nonetheless. His large hand reached out for her delicate one. “How are you feeling about the journey?”

  Sansa looked away from him, at the horizon before them. She took a moment to answer, in a tone that gained strength and certainty, “I _am_ looking forward to seeing Lorath–very much so. But I can’t forget the dreadful endless voyage aboard _The Summer Bird_. I am a Stark after all, and wolves are supposed to be brave, but I just can’t help it. My tummy is fluttering wildly at the very thought of it.”

  Sandor remembered very well their escape across the Narrow Sea. The little bird had been sick on most of it, never leaving their cabin, and he had ended up taking care of her as best he could.

  “No wonder you’re worried,” he jested, smirking at her. “Stop fretting, little bird. You’ll be all right. The trip to Lorath doesn’t last more than five days, I’m told. If you want to concern your pretty head with sea voyages, then think about the one from Lorath to Braavos, or the even longer one from Braavos to White Harbour.”

  Sansa only let out a long resigned sigh at that, and dropped her head to rest on his shoulder. They fell silent for some time, and before Sandor realized it, he found himself doing the same thing the little bird had told him she’d been doing here: taking in every detail of this strand of forsaken beach so that he could remember it forever. At one point, they started playing with each other’s bare feet, drawing their eyes to the way their limbs were playing with the other. _Bloody hells, her foot is tiny!_ He marveled, comparing his own feet with hers.

  A particularly loud seagull was flying across the sky when all of a sudden Sandor almost jumped in surprise as he felt Sansa’s hand slowly making its way beneath his loose tunic, her hand pressed upon the small of his back, as if giving him the chance to draw away if he wanted to. When he did not move, Sansa’s touch became bolder, as she began to run her hand down and across his back. It somehow felt soothing and good to have her drawing circles on his flesh, and when her fingernails left an agonizingly slow trail upon his skin, Sandor’s breath hitched. His senses had become acute to all his surroundings, her simple gestures feeling too fucking good for both their sakes

  He turned his head around to get a look at her face, but she was still resting her head on his forearm and it was difficult getting that glimpse. Sansa placed a kiss on his shoulder and whispered, “Lay back down.”

  Sandor tried hard not to gulp as he did as she had said after a moment’s hesitation, wondering what the little bird had in mind. His eyes met hers again, and even though he saw a blush on her cheeks, Sansa smiled at him, not lowering her bright gaze until he was sprawled on his back on the blanket, the morning sky above him.

  She was still sitting beside him, and after a moment in which she seemed to make up her mind, Sansa brought her hands forward and laid them upon his chest. She ruffled his tunic upwards to his collarbone with his help once he realized what she wanted to do, and he, curious but definitely enjoying this, let her. Her eyes took in the sight of his bare chest openly, giving him the feeling that she was drinking in every hard line and chiseled muscle.

  With a quick look back at his face, she started caressing him, first with hesitation, and then with eagerness, her hands trailing down his abdomen and across his waist, pressing down against him with a strength that surprised him _._ He found himself being proud of himself then, glad that there was more to him than his face for Sansa to deal with. Sandor groaned when her hand dug into the skin of his side, before she suddenly leaned down and started kissing him wherever he had a scar, from a battle or otherwise.

  “Where did you get this?” she murmured against his body, her lips upon each and every scar.

  Sandor couldn’t remember all of the places and fights where he had earned them, but he tried to remember as best he could, saying, “At Pyke, during Greyjoy’s Rebellion,” or, “At practice with Strongboar, back at the Rock when I was five-and-ten.”

  He brought his hand to hold the back of her head, tangling on her hair while he answered her and she went on with her soft ministrations, and closed his eyes, letting the feeling of her hot mouth upon him take over his senses. At times, he couldn’t distinguish if he was feeling or imaging her tongue brushing against his skin. The tightness of his breeches was turning into something harder to ignore by the minute. _Gods, why must she always do this to me in the mornings?_

  When there were no more scars to kiss or no more of his chest for Sansa to explore, she raised her head and looked at him again, beaming at him with a mischievous expression. And then, all of a sudden, she burst into giggles and lay back down on the blanket beside him.

  “What in the seven fucking hells is so funny?” he asked her, frowning, thinking that his voice sounded like he hadn’t used it in years, as he turned to his side and propped himself on his elbow.

 

***

 

  Sansa didn’t know why she had waited so long before doing this to Sandor. _It’s so wonderful and as exciting as I knew it would be,_ she couldn’t stop thinking as her hands caressed his warm muscles, his chest, his narrow waist… as she kissed the scars that decorated his physique, she tried to still her beating heart and the drumming that had started to sound loudly inside her head. _I love you for every one of them. A proof of how brave you’ve been all your life, my darling big man_.

  But then, without any notice, she couldn’t help herself and started giggling.

  “What in the seven fucking hells is so funny?” she heard Sandor rasp. She closed her eyes and blushed madly, and lay down on the blanket beside his powerful body, wishing she could keep her face straight. It was no good. When she felt Sandor nudging her arm to bring back her attention to his questions, she met his grey stare once more.

  _Oh, what must he think of me?_ she wondered nervously. Sansa tried to stop laughing, and answered in between breaths, “I–I couldn’t help but imagine what Septa Mordane would say if she saw me now.”

  Sandor blinked, and gazed down at her with a momentarily incredulity before his burned face broke into a wolfish grin. “Bugger Septa Mordane, little bird.”

  She laughed at that, and when both their laughter died away, Sansa found herself taking in the details of Sandor’s face, as they suddenly became serious. She cupped Sandor’s burned cheek and whispered resignedly at his remarks, “Oh, my dearest Sandor. Yes, bugger Septa Mordane.”

  She then closed her eyes as he leaned down to kiss her. She returned his slow kiss, deepening it as she heard him moving above her. When he drew away from her mouth only to begin kissing her neck, Sansa’s eyes flew open, staring at the beautiful blue sky above and at the white clouds.

  _Gods_ , she thought, even more surprised when she realized that she had brought her hands to caress his back beneath his tunic again. Sandor was making funny noises on her neck, making her smile as she rested her head against his. It didn’t last very long, though, and before she knew it, Sandor had laid down his head upon her chest, his arms encircling her softly as she went on drawing soothing circles on his back, thinking that his head was a little too close to her breasts. She didn’t say anything about that though.

  After their heavy breathing subsided, Sansa brought her fingers to run through Sandor’s dark shoulder-length hair, marveling at the way having him rest upon her body felt. She could practically feel the way the tension left his body, and she was overcome to think that a man like him could react like this because of her. She wrapped him in her arms as best she could, feeling only slightly uncomfortable because of his heavy weight on her.

  “Yes, Septa Mordane would definitely be shocked,” she remarked suddenly, drawing a bark of laughter from her big man again.

  “Sandor,” Sansa suddenly said, after they had fallen silent for a little while.

  “Hmm?” he replied, absentmindedly toying with the sleeve of her gown. He raised his head from her chest to lock his gaze with hers, as he brought his hand to her chin, his thumb brushing over her lips for a moment when she didn’t continue.

  “I am happy we got to spend some time in this place,” she said at last. “You are the only one who could’ve made this forsaken simple place a joy to live in every day.”

  “I’m going to miss it here too, Sansa,” Sandor admitted.

  They resumed talking about the journey ahead of them for a time, before they returned to the cottage where Sansa asked if he could let her help him don his armour on, remembering the first few times she’d done this back in Pentos. Then they gathered their scarce belongings and bid good-bye to the little wooden cottage on the beach, and made their way to the castle, Sandor carrying both of their saddlebags under his arms.

  “Jeyne,” Barli called after her as she left the cavernous kitchen a short while later. “We have to set out now.”

  “I won’t be long,” she called back, walking away as fast as she could. Everything was ready now. Merra had packed some food for them all, and Nan and Stranger and Barli’s white palfrey were saddled and waiting at the gates for their owners. Sansa was also ready to go, but she wanted for some strange reason to bid a proper good-bye to old Hrolf. Yesterday she had read to him as she always did, both aware that it was the last time. Sansa knew what to expect from this sudden whim of hers. Short words and rude manners, but she couldn’t just leave the castle without thanking Hrolf for giving his consent to the affair with the cottage, and for accepting her and Sandor’s services.

  Hagen had let out a cry in protest and Sandor had shaken his head, while the cook and her husband said it was a bad idea, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from running up the now familiar route to where the master’s chambers were.

  Once she was outside in the corridor to Hrolf’s dark rooms, she smoothed her hair and skirts, composing herself. She knocked and waited a couple of heartbeats before she heard him call, “Enter.”

  Opening the big oaken doors, Sansa saw that Hrolf was standing in front of his bookcase, staring at his books intently. She closed the doors behind her.

  “So, Merra, they’ve gone, have they?” he said, still looking at his precious books.

  “Good morning,” she said clearly, making him turn around quickly. By the expression on his face, she knew he hadn’t expected her to return to him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked her. “Aren’t you supposed to be departing my castle right now?”

  “Yes,” she answered, her hands entwined before her. “I–I just wanted to thank you for everything before I left, and bid you farewell.”

  If Hrolf was surprised or touched by her words, his face didn’t show any hint of it. He regarded her for a long moment, before saying, “Keep up reading in Valyrian if you wish to improve your accent.”

  Frowning, she nodded, and promised him she would.

  “Well, farewell, then, Westerosi girl,” he said in a voice of icy politeness.

  Sansa smiled at him. “Good-bye.”

  She was about to open the door when he exclaimed, “Wait!”

  Blinking, she turned to look at him, a bit startled. Hrolf hesitated for a moment before grimacing and walking over in her direction. Sansa stood rooted to the spot, not knowing what to expect, her eyes on the old man, but he only stepped beside her and opened the door for her silently.

  Staring at his actions, it dawned on Sansa that this was a small demonstration of politeness from the noble Lorathi lord to her–his way of thanking her. She smiled again, meeting his stare, and nodded.

  “Thank you,” she said gracefully, stepping outside into the hallway before he closed the oaken doors behind her.

  Once they had bidden farewell to Merra in the stone courtyard where they had first met her about a month ago, they set out onto the road, Barli leading the way, talking with Edar beside him, while Sandor and Sansa rode their horses, occasionally conversing, at times falling silent as they started thinking about what awaited them in Lorath, gazing at the bleak landscape all around them. The towers of the old castle still stalked the sky the last time Sansa decided to look behind her to get one last view of the place where she had been so happy, committing everything about her stay there to memory once again.

  “What did the old bastard say?” Sandor asked her suddenly.

  Sansa shrugged. “That I should keep up reading books in High Valyrian, and then he opened the door for me. Coming from him, that was nice.”

  He snorted. “You should have asked him if he could give you a book about ships to remember him by.”

  Sansa laughed. “Oh, no, I am _sick_ of ship lore, and I think he knew that as well.”

  It was a long day. They had left the castle behind them before midday, and only stopped to eat something beside the sea once. The outlaw stared at the ocean as if he had never seen it before, chewing slowly his cheese and bread.

  “It’s a pity I didn’t get a time to go swimming in this past month.”

  Sansa threw Sandor a look as he sat beside her on a rock, but he only burst out laughing at her expression, as they both remembered what was on her mind. About a week ago, Sansa had surprised Sandor with a fire on the beach and dinner under the stars. Everything had turned out splendidly, until the moment Sandor had taken off his shirt and announced that he was going for a swim.

  A bit startled, she had called after him that it was too dark for him to do that, and that the water must surely be freezing even more than usual by night. Sandor had told her then that he couldn’t understand her.

  “You’ve been living by the sea for almost a bloody month, and never once gone swimming yourself.”

  And before she knew it, her heart had stopped, as she quickly stood up, running away from him and the fire, as fast as her long legs could carry her, understanding what the wicked look on his face meant. Sandor had caught her pretty soon, though, and sweeping her in his arms he had carried her to the cold sea, ignoring her struggles and cries for him to stop. By the time he was waist deep inside the water, he had lost his footing as he balanced her weight in his arms and had dropped her into the shivering ocean, making her cough and scream at him through chattering teeth that it wasn’t funny when she heard him laughing. _I don’t think I ever felt so cold in all my life as I did in the first moment of hitting the water._

  It had at first been horrible, but Sansa had seen something then. Sandor was laughing and looking like a little boy having the time of his life, and it had made her realized that he had never behaved so childishly with her before. She had felt overwhelmed, as she shook with cold, due to the trust Sandor had in her that permitted her to catch glimpses of the child he must have once been. And so in the end, though she trembled all the time she was in the cold waters, she and Sandor had started playfully splashing water at the other, making Sansa recall a summer snow fight long ago with Arya and Bran.

  They had ambushed her as she came out of the keep one morning, and by the end she and Arya were laughing, rubbing snow in each other’s hair until Jory Cassel came to pull them apart. Sandor and her had laughed until her tummy was aching and tears were threatening to appear in her eyes, but no one had come to separate them this time as they started kissing, the moonlight and sea foam making Sansa think that this was better than just having dinner by the fire like she’d first intended.

  Barli and Edar exchanged a look presently as Sandor ruffled Sansa’s hair fondly and she ended up chuckling, shaking her head.

  “Lorath is an island, Hagen. Don’t worry. Surely you can find time to steal away for a swim,” Sansa assured him, as she took a drink from her waterskin.

  “I guess I could, but no one really swims in the waters of the harbor.”

  “Oh,” she said, recalling Blackwater Bay and the harbor of Pentos.

  When night had fallen, they at last arrived at the village where ships were anchored which were either heading to or coming from Lorath. The town was a small one, but much bigger than any of the previous ones Sansa had spied on their way here. Sailors were in the street everywhere, some even with dubious-looking women hanging to their arms, showing too much of their cleavage, Sansa could not help but notice. It only took her and her companions a moment to find more than one willing captain to accept them all aboard their ships, if they had the coin for it. None of them were leaving for Lorath till morning, so at least they would have one more night in a bed, for which Sansa gave a silent prayer of thanks.

  Sandor told the captains, “We shall take a proper look at the ships in the morning and see which one is in the best condition.”

  So they went to book two rooms at one of the town’s two inns, which was mercifully not as bad as _The Stinking Fish_ had been. They took their horses to the stables, and when they entered the common room through the front door, the sight before her was too much for Sansa. Almost all the men present looked drunk enough to start a fight at any moment, and they were singing bawdy songs that sounded along the lines of _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_.

  She tucked her arm in Sandor’s, and standing on tip-toe said, “Could we have dinner at our room?”

  He nodded, regarding the crowded room with an angry scowl on his face. Sansa bid good night to the outlaw and Barli before going upstairs to the room the innkeeper showed them. She was tempted to ask for a bath when she spied the wooden tub on a corner, and with a sigh she knew that it was wiser not to waste their coin so quickly. She simply sat down and ate the food they had paid for, which a young girl had brought up for them, and went to sleep, ignoring the loud noises coming from the common room.

  Sansa woke up abruptly the following morning, as a heavy knocking was heard on their door. She turned around blinking, and found Sandor already tense behind her, his hand on the pommel of the sword beside him, the steel of Protector, his longsword, shining bright in the morning light. A moment later, Sandor rasped a foul angry curse and sat back on the bed after Hagen Edar called from outside their room, “Jeyne, Byan, wake up, it’s time! Get ready, the captains of the ships will be waiting for us. I’ll see you in the common room.”

  They heard Barli’s voice urging the outlaw to hurry on because he was hungry. Sandor threw a hand across his face, muttering, “Seven hells! I’m going to kill that fucking madman one of these days.”

  She laughed, her head back on the pillow, remembering. Sandor had told her what the bandit had confessed to him the afternoon she had mended his black shirt and Sandor had sat her on his lap, and Sansa felt truly sad for Hagen for being unable to say farewell to his wife because of the enmity between him and Arman. For a moment, she found herself wondering if, had she given in and agreed to Arman’s proposal, she would have been allowed to see Sandor before the magisters exiled him out of Great Norvos.

  With a shake of her head, Sansa dismissed that. She turned around to look at Sandor, who was already gazing at her intently.

  Sansa smiled warmly at her big man when he placed his calloused hand on her neck and gently brushed her cheek with his thumb. Sandor leaned down and kissed her. She threw her arms around him and when they drew apart, their foreheads pressed against the other, their breaths mingling, she said, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, bird,” he whispered hoarsely, making Sansa wonder if she was still dreaming. _This is too good to be true. Too much happiness_.

  But then she caught sight of something in the depths of Sandor’s eyes, and immediately sensed that there was some matter that was amiss, and was troubling him. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  Sandor swallowed, considering something. “I’m always going to take care of you, Sansa. I promise.”

  She smiled, touched very much by his words. She couldn’t help but think it was silly that he seemed so troubled by this.

  “And I of you,” she promised, imitating his serious tone.

  Sandor blinked, surprised by her reaction, before he chuckled and traced a calloused finger along the outline of her jaw. “Aye, I believe you would.”

  “Sandor, are you thinking about Braavos?” she ventured in, wondering if that was what the reason behind his promise.

  He sighed. “That and many other things.”

  Her fingers played with the hair on his chest as she said, “Well, we don’t really have to stay long there, you know. I’ve heard it’s a beautiful place, but if you deem it wiser to simply arrive there and take the first ship to the Seven Kingdoms at once, then I will agree with you.”

  Sandor regarded her with a grown. “I thought you had your heart set on staying there at least two days, Sansa.”

  She smiled. “Yes, but our lives are at risk. This is important, and even if we stayed we would not really enjoy it, spending all day long constantly on alert for any trouble. I don’t care about the sight-seeing at all. I’m tired of running and hiding and not settling down anywhere for long. I long for Winterfell.”

  “That’s your home, not mine.”

  “It is your home as well. Since the moment I became yours. Sandor, you left the place you had been living at for years and deserted the House you served to protect me. Since the moment I ran out of my bedroom to clasp your white cloak to your shoulders after you left me during the battle, in a way Winterfell was already going to be your home. We were meant for each other, and now we are meant to go home. To _our_ home.”

  Sandor fixed his gaze on her face, considering her words with a scowl, but Sansa knew her big man was moved by her words. After breaking their fast in a thankfully deserted common room, they went to inspect the few ships available at the small harbour, and though Sandor wasn’t very pleased with any of them, they finally decided upon one called _The Fat Whale_ , a name which Sansa found funny.

  “It’s been nice meeting you,” Barli said, shaking hands with Sandor and clasping Edar on the back. “And you, Jeyne. No one has ever survived with the master a whole month, and I doubt there is anyone who will ever surpass you.”

  Sansa smiled. “Thank you, Barli. Tell Merra I shall miss her cooking and her company, and advise the girl who takes over my place to have patience with Hrolf. He isn’t very bad really. Not deep down.”

  Barli sighed resignedly and said, “I will try, but I doubt it will do much good.”

  Then he got on his white palfrey and waved at them for a last time, before turning around and leaving them on the small port of the village. Sansa turned her face to look at _The Fat Whale_ , remembering that _The Summer Bird_ had at least looked like it could survive some storms, but this old ship… well, it was a wonder it hadn’t sunk down yet.

  They were only aboard the ship for five days and four nights, and there weren’t any storms to test the ship’s capacity; only a light rain on the second day that lasted all afternoon. Sansa spent most of her time in the cabin after Sandor said he didn’t want to risk her safety with so many men on board. Whenever her big man had to go to look after Stranger and Nan, he asked Edar to keep an eye on her.

  Sansa liked talking to the outlaw about everything he could remember of Lorath, and with every passing day she grew more and more excited and impatient to reach Hagen’s homeland. Edar said that it was a land of memories to him, and he certainly had many of them from his childhood, though he had spent most of his life in Norvos.

  The cabin that had been given to her and Sandor was quite small, comprised mostly of a sleeping shelf and room enough for them to place their saddlebags in.

  “The only good thing about this bloody bed is that we don’t get cold,” Sandor roared once, when the shifting motion of the ship made him fall from their narrow bed onto the floor. Sansa had tried hard not to laugh at that sight as she offered him her hand to help him get on his feet.

  One afternoon, she was sick of staying inside the cramped cabin and stepped outside into the forecastle of _The Fat Whale_ with Sandor beside her, loosening his sword in his scabbard, she had grown excited at the talk among the sailors of spying whales in these waters, but she unfortunately never saw one herself.

  During the eatly afternoon of the fifth day since their sea voyage began, on a day when the sun was actually shinning down upon this place at the end of the world, Sansa and Sandor had been in their cabin, talking about how long they should stay in Lorath and how long they should stay in Braavos, while they shared a loaf of burned bread with raisins and nuts in it–which didn’t particularly taste very good, but it was considered to be the cook’s best dish–when Edar suddenly called through their locked door, “Jeyne, Byan, come outside quickly, we’ve finally reached Lorath!”

  Sansa cleaned her hands with a piece of cloth. Her eyes locked with Sandor’s grey ones, and he nodded at her in reassurance saying, “Let’s go take a look.”

  She smiled at him excitedly and nodded. They stepped outside of their cabin and walked a few steps over to the stairs that led to the forecastle. The moment she had joined the outlaw, feeling the wind in her hair, her breath caught in her throat as her eyes settled on her first view of the distant city before her. Edar was staring at it with his dark eyes shining bright.

  Sandor stepped behind her and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, regarding the horizon with narrowed eyes. Sailors were shouting at each other as they steered the ship northeast, towards the island before them and Sansa could see ahead of her different ships heading towards the large harbor as well.

  “You really do believe Bryar won’t mind having us despite having no previous word of our coming?” she asked the bandit.

  Hagen shook his head and laughed openly at that notion. “Not at all, Jeyne. Given the circumstances of our last meeting, and the fact that word of what I’ve been doing must have reached my family, Bryar will want my skin for a cloak, but you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ll see… It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Even as this distance.”

  Sansa tried hard not to stare at the outlaw after these words. _Surely Bryar would understand why Hagen felt he had to raid caravans._ She returned her attention to Lorath, and ended up smiling a little. The view before her was full of promise. She placed her hand above the one Sandor had on her, and nodded as he squeezed her shoulder in reassurance.

  “Yes, it is,” she agreed. She was about to turn around to place a light kiss on Sandor’s cheek when a sudden possibility startled her. For a brief moment, for some reason, the vision of Edar’s brother flashed across her mind, and he unfortunately looked like a little less terrifying version of Sandor’s own horrible elder brother.

  _Poor Hagen_ , she thought as the bandit excitedly announced he was going to gather his few things together. As Sansa’s eyes trailed after him, she turned around to face Sandor, with a worried expression. Slipping her hands in his large ones, she remarked, “Hagen’s brother seems a little bad-tempered, don’t you think?”

  “He’d be fucking stupid if he didn’t disapprove of his brother’s fancy of raiding caravans out of Norvos, little bird. That madman’s family has only been rich for two generations, so it isn’t to be wondered at that they’ll be puffed up like bladders with their honors. If he has been upright with his little brother, it is because he was destroying the reputation he tries to maintain, most like.”

  “If Bryar doesn’t really approve of us staying with him…”

  “Then we will go and stay at an inn. I won’t allow anyone to treat you like a beggar who needs their pity, _Jeyne_.”

  Sansa was about to raise herself on tip-toes to kiss her big man when Hagen returned to join them on the deck, causing her to draw back. The bandit commented, “It’s probable, I think, that we’ll meet Bryar’s men when we land, because they’re frequently at the port. Or Amon, that old bugger, if he is still alive!”

  Sandor snorted. “Who’s Amon?”

  “The family’s steward,” Edar answered casually. “He raised me and Bryar both after Mother died and Father was too busy taking care of the family’s business. Why, I think he must be in his sixties by now, if I remember correctly. When he sees me, he’ll want to drag me to Bryar’s presence at once by the ears. See if he doesn’t.”

  Sansa tried to hide her giggles at the thought of a man as old as Maester Luwin doing that to a man her father’s age. It took the _Fat Whale_ another hour to finally arrive at the open seaport of Lorath, and all the while Sansa watched with an increasing excitement the sailors all around her taking down the sails to depend on oars alone as they entered the bay. Behind the ships, tall wide pale yellow square buildings were blocking the newcomers’ view of the city beyond, standing erect almost as a wall of protection. The very distant hills didn’t appear to have any manses on them, and so far Sansa hadn’t seen a single golden dome showing off the city’s wealth and vanity the way the buildings in Norvos and Pentos had.

  _The harbor is bigger than the one in Pentos_ , she gathered, gazing all around her. _But this one is far less crowded._ Which was to be expected, seeing as this island, large and prominent as it was, didn’t rival the coastal city of Pentos in several aspects.

  When the old ship was moored at the quay, Sandor helped her walk down the plank slowly, while Edar brought up the rear.

  “I’ll go for Nan first and Stranger. Stay here,” Sandor rasped, looking at her. He leaned over to her and said in the Common Tongue, “Use the dagger if you must, without hesitations.”

  She nodded, feeling the cold small blade of the dagger she had taken from Stannis Baratheon’s dying soldier so long ago in the Kingswood. Hagen was eagerly looking all around him, peering through and above the people walking down the Street–early risers coming to buy food from the small market that had been erected beside the port. Once Nan was with her, the horse’s reins in her hand, and Sandor had gone back to the ship for his black destrier, a scowl on his face, Sansa pointed at the tall large square buildings, behind the market stalls.

  “What are those?” she asked Edar.

  “Warehouses,” he answered at once, with a shrug. “My family owns almost all the ones upon the left bank–or at least they did, the last time I was here. Bryar probably owns them all by now.”

  Sansa looked at the warehouses upon the left bank of the canal that ran through the two tallest of these buildings, with a mild interest, her attention already drawn to the Lorathi people around her, as the sailors of the ships from all over the world behind her yelled commands at one another in Valyrian. Hagen had told her and Sandor that this port was a very important gateway, and judging by the busy activity even at this late hour, Sansa saw the truth of those words. Some of the conversations she fleetingly overheard were being spoken in languages unknown to her ears.

  Just then, Sansa’s eyes fell upon a band of around two-and-ten menacing-looking and sullen men, some of whom were casting rude glances at her, as they muttered and nudged at each other, in what Sansa thought was a slightly suspicious manner. _They look like sellswords._ With her chestnut mare’s reins still in her hand, she stepped closer to Hagen, her free arm going around his.

  The outlaw smiled at her. “What is it?”

  She opened her mouth to answer when a loud scream was heard. “This cannot be true! Surely I am mistaken! Gods, I must be. Hagen Edar, is that you?”

  Both the bandit and she turned at that, and Sansa saw an old man with hair as white as snow, but lacking a beard to match it, walking over towards them, his expression incredulous and his blue eyes twinkling merrily.

  “Amon!” Hagen exclaimed, slipping away from Sansa’s side, as he stepped forward eagerly to wrap his arms around the old man’s. She glanced around her to see if Sandor was finally coming back. He wasn’t. _Those men are still staring at us_ , she realized with dread, once again seeing that band of men staring at her and Hagen and Amon.

  Walking over towards where the young and the old men stood, Sansa heard the outlaw say loudly, “It’s good to see you again, Amon! Really good… I see that you are still insisting on buying provisions by yourself out here. I don’t like it, Amon. Not one bit.”

  Amon snorted, shaking his head. “Spare me, boy. You’re one to talk about doing things you shouldn’t! Running off to the Hills of Norvos…”

  “Excuse me,” Sansa said with a smile, stepping beside Edar. She could tell that despite the words they exchanged and the agitated manner in which they behaved, Amon had missed Hagen very much, though he was apparently trying to pretend that wasn’t the case. “I’m afraid that–”

  “Oh, Amon, this is Jeyne. Jeyne, meet Amon,” Hagen said, interrupting her. 

  She smiled kindly at Amon, a little puzzled by the way his eyes grew as big as saucers at the sight of her.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” she said, nodding at the old man. “Hagen, please, look behind you to your right. Do you see that group of men beside the covered corner of that building?”

  Edar spared them a look. “What about them, Jeyne?”

  “They scare me,” she confessed, wishing Sandor was the one she was speaking to. “They are armed and haven’t done anything but stare at us since we first stepped onto this island.”

  “Really?” the bandit asked in awe, and turned around to regard the group of men more closely.

  “Don’t mind them,” Amon suddenly said. “Those are some of Bryar’s sellswords.”

  Hagen’s head spun back around quickly at that, while Sansa’s heart stopped beating so fast, as she felt relieved.

  “Why does Bryar need sellswords?”

  “There are pirates in the Narrow Sea, and bandits in the land routes around Lorath. Bryar thought it prudent to have a company of sellswords at the family’s disposal. More and more of the other merchant families are quickly following our lead… I would’ve thought you would know all of this already, seeing as you are an outlaw yourself if I remember correctly.”

  Sansa saw Hagen’s eyes harden at that last remark, but he only said in a suddenly serious tone, “I’m done with that part of my life, Amon.”

  “So I can see,” Amon exclaimed in an ironic manner, glancing at Sansa. “You went away to avenge your wife, you said. Vengeance, ha! You leave us– _your_ family, you irresponsible brat, and now you come back with a new wife!”

  “What?” Hagen said, at a loss. And Sansa’s mouth dropped open a little as she understood.

  Amon continued as if he wasn’t a bit touched by their expressions. “I wonder what Master Edar would say if he could see you now. She’s very pretty, Hagen, but I can just hear your father turning in his grave on this instant. He always said Bryar was the real man, and–”

  “Oh, no,” Sansa said, interrupting. She knew it was rude of her, but she couldn’t let this go on any longer. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I am not Hagen’s wife.”

  She had thought those words would soothe the old man, but they only enraged him further. With a speed she wouldn’t have believed he possessed, Amon stepped up to a surprised Edar and poked his finger on his chest, saying in a hoarse and threatening whisper, “I warn you, Hagen. If you’re planning on introducing the girl to the family, you better marry her, and soon. The nerve of you bringing your woman all this way is bad enough…”

  Sansa wasn’t hearing the threats anymore. She stood rigid, staring down at Amon with amazement, and some anger at being believed to be the mad outlaw’s concubine. _Gods be good!_

 

***

 

  Sandor was leading his agitated warhorse down the plank of the stinking _Fat Whale_ , staring at the crowd with narrowed eyes until he saw the little bird’s auburn head. She was standing beside a stall at the market, with Hagen beside her, and they both were talking to an old man.

  _That must be the Edars’ steward,_ Sandor gathered, making his way through the small crowd towards Sansa. He was just some steps behind her when he heard her exclaim passionately, “I am not his woman!” as she pointed at Hagen, who was trying to reason with the white-haired man, “Amon, she isn’t! She is my friend.”

  The man shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, a stubborn expression upon his fucking face. “Is that how they’re calling it these days? Friends?”

  It wasn’t hard to figure out what was happening there. Sandor chuckled, turning around so that neither the outlaw nor Sansa would hear him. _Seven hells, Sansa and Edar… now that’s a bloody jest and misunderstanding if I ever saw one,_ he thought with amusement. As he turned around, his eyes fell upon a band of sellswords, who were armed and not trying to keep it a secret as they stared at the little bird and the other two men, some with incredulity on their faces, others with suspicion clearly etched upon their narrowed eyes.

  Sandor’s hand was already resting on the pommel of his sword, his hold on Stranger’s reins tight, as his gaze fell upon a tall lean figure stepping away from the group of sellswords, making way towards him. The stranger’s eyes regarded Sansa, Hagen and the old fool with amusement before standing beside Sandor. 

  He was still wary as the stranger said, “It’s always been like that, you know. Hagen and Amon, I mean. They’re always squabbling whenever they’re in each other’s presence, but Hagen has always been Amon’s favorite, though the old fool will never admit it. Not even under torture, I reckon.”

  Sandor stared with incredulity at the way the elderly man was still calling Edar a liar. _Both madmen, no surprise they always fight._

  “My pardons, but are you one of Hagen’s outlaw friends?”

  “No,” Sandor responded, scowling.

  “His paid sword, then?”

  He snorted at that. “No, I am Byan Storm. I’m with the young woman.”

  His grey eyes regarded Sansa’s back quickly; he frowned and asked the stranger, “And who are you?”

  With a strange expression on the face, his interrogator answered, “His sister.”

   _Bugger, never in the seven hells would I have expected Bryar Edar to be a woman._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for wishing me good luck on my trip! I hope you all liked this chapter and that you are all doing great:D


	32. The Ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> *Girls: onborrowedwings & nysandra,you know how thankful I am to you both!! :D   
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

  Sandor nodded, remembering the conversations he’d had with the little bird about what kind of a man Bryar Edar would turn out to be. Yet now that he looked with a little surprise at the woman, Sandor wondered how he hadn’t realized before that she was Hagen’s relative. They could _almost_ pass off as twins.

  “We thought you were a man,” Sandor told her.

  She snorted at that. “I’m not surprised. I’m sure my big brother didn’t go into any details about me.”

  And with that, she turned her back on him and returned to have a word with her sellswords. _Probably_ _to warn them to still keep an eye on us._ Her brother, Sandor saw, was rolling his eyes at the way the Edar family’s steward was still insisting that he and Sansa ought to marry today, before any word of his affair reached anyone’s ears.

  Sandor strode over to the little bird’s side, laying a heavy hand on her shoulder, while his free hand still held Stranger’s reins in a tight grip. He was getting sick of hearing that Sansa and the bandit were lovers, and surely this would finally shut up that steward’s fucking mouth.

  It was still amusing, though, to see how red Sansa had turned, and the way she frowned as she looked up at him now was a pretty sight, with Nan shaking her head behind her mistress.

  “He thinks I’m with Hagen,” she said, indignantly in the Common Tongue. “That I’m his woman, and–”

  “You’re mine,” he rasped, squeezing her shoulder, before lying and saying, “I don’t give a shit what this sodding idiot thinks.”

  Sansa smiled a little, but Sandor was not pleased. He fixed his gaze on Amon, who had finally stopped talking, and was looking with narrowed eyes at the hand Sansa had tenderly raised to his, taking in the sight of her first, and then of Sandor. Sandor thought he probably knew what the old man was thinking. _I know how we look together_.

  “Is this man bothering you?” he asked Sansa loudly in High Valyrian, jerking his head at Amon, his hand dropping from her shoulder so he could reach for the pommel of his sword.

  “No,” Hagen answered quickly, before Sansa could open her lips, fearing Sandor would suddenly attack the old bugger. “No, Byan. It’s just a misunderstanding. This is Amon, my family’s steward. Remember I talked to you about him? Well, the fool here thinks me and Jeyne are–are together, despite us denying it fifty times.”

  “So this is your famous wet-nurse, is it?” Sandor mocked. “He better not mistake Jeyne for a whore again, unless he wants my sword through his belly.”

  Amon puffed up with hurt pride at his threat. “Bryar’s sellswords would kill you before you could draw your blade out.”

  Sandor rasped a laugh, choking with contempt. “Want to see if I can prove you wrong, old man?”

  “I’m with Byan, Amon,” Sansa said suddenly, moving closer to Sandor, to intervene. “But whatever my relationship with this man is, it should not be of your concern. We are Hagen’s friends, and bear you no ill will.”

  Hagen nodded, his dark eyes glancing quickly at the hand Sandor still had on the pommel of his longsword.

  After a few moments, the old bastard seemed to relent and said, “I’m sorry if I offended you, Jeyne. But understand that I just couldn’t let Hagen return to his father’s roof without being married if he was with you. I suffered too much anxiety with Bryar’s affairs before marriage. I do not think I would be able to survive Hagen doing the same now.”

  “It’s all right,” Sansa said with relief. “I _do_ understand.”

  She looked up at Sandor, with a clear smile on her beautiful face, making him wonder if it shouldn’t be better for them to be married before they arrived at Westeros, in order to avoid anyone calling the little bird the dog’s bitch, and even worse, calling her that to her face.

 

***

 

  Sansa smiled at her big man, glad that a fight right here on the street had been avoided; his features were finally relaxing, and he gave her a nod she knew meant that he would let this matter rest. The sellswords that were still staring at them looked very threatening, and while Sandor was the best swordsman she had ever met, he was still outnumbered. It would have been horrible to draw blood the moment they first stepped into Lorath, and from someone as dear to Hagen as Amon.

  Despite being a little affronted at the way the steward had seemed determined and adamant that the only thing that could explain why she was with Hagen alone on the harbor was that she was his woman, Sansa had quickly noticed that there was a deep love between him and Edar.

  _I am a Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn_ , she thought. It had angered her that she had been mistaken for Hagen’s mistress, but now, as Sandor’s burned features softened as he looked down at her, Sansa wondered if the thought of belonging to another man that was not him had also been a reason for why she’d been cross. _We may have lived as man and wife for months, but I am not yet Sandor’s woman in the sense Amon meant_ … The thread of fleeting possibilities that followed those silent words made Sansa blush.

  When she looked back at Hagen and Amon, she saw a woman stepping up between them, with an arched eyebrow and arms crossed before her, as her dark eyes regarded the outlaw from head to foot, remarking, “You look better than the last time we met, brother.”

  Hagen’s face lit up. “Bryar!” he exclaimed, giving the woman who was apparently his sister a hug.

  _Oh, gods, so_ this _is Bryar, hen?_ Sansa wondered, surprised, looking at the woman before her with wide eyes. But the _r_ e was no mistake, since Bryar Edar looked very much like her brother. They were both lean and had the same dark merry eyes and wiry blonde hair, but she was shorter than him and even shorter than Sansa. Sansa noticed that Bryar was also wearing men’s clothes, which explained why she blended so well among her sellswords, and attracted less attention. There was a dagger on her hip as well. _She isn’t pretty_ , Sansa concluded, _but there is a boldness to her that draws the eye_. Sansa almost laughed as she recalled thinking Bryar would look like Gregor Clegane.

  “So you’ve come home. Is it just a visit or are you finally planning on giving up your mad quest, brother?”

  Sansa saw the way those words affected Hagen. The grief of learning he would never be able to avenge his late wife still haunted him. The man looked at his feet, running a hand through his hair before answering, “Arman Nervere is dead, Bryar, and unfortunately not by my hand. Byan and Jeyne here saw him die at some public combat.”

  Amon the steward gasped at the news, and Bryar stared at her brother as if she couldn’t believe what he had just said. She turned her eyes to regard Sansa and Sandor for a moment, before placing her hand on the bandit’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Hagen. You’ve always known my views on the matter, but I can also imagine how you must be feeling.”

  Hagen nodded, not wishing to keep on talking about this. “I’m forgetting my manners. Bryar, these are my friends, Jeyne and Byan from Westeros. I am in their debt.”

  Sansa smiled at Hagen’s sister, who only nodded at them, saying. “If what my brother says is true, then I should offer the hospitality of our house to you both.”

  “Thank you, my lady. That is very kind of you,” Sansa replied. “Your brother is a good man.”

  Bryar snorted at that. “I guess he is, in a way. I am eager to hear what happened between you two and Hagen, but I’m afraid it will not be possible for many moons. You must all be tired after your journey. Please, Amon, take them to The Ruins and make sure they feel comfortable.”

  “The Ruins?” Sandor asked, frowning.

  “That’s the name of our home,” Hagen answered, smiling at how smoothly this introduction was turning out. “What do you mean by many moons, sister? Surely you aren’t going away just when I’ve come home?”

  “I must,” she answered, looking back at her hired sellswords by the covered corner of a warehouse. “I’m waiting for a fat-bellied whaling ship that’s taking me to Ibben for supplies.”

  Hagen’s face fell at those words. “I see. And for how long will you be away?”

  “A month or more. Don’t know yet. But stop looking so sad face, brother, it is your fault. Had you sent word of your coming to me, I may have delayed the journey.”

  Hagen shouldered his sister affectionately and laughed, while old Amon shook his head in disapproval at the siblings.

  “Away with you now,” Bryar told them, her sharp features turning serious. “I see _The Cold Wind_ on the horizon.”

  And with that she walked away from their little party, shouting a command to her hired swords to join her. Sansa saw a tall handsome-looking man join Bryar’s side and whisper something in her ear that made her laugh as they headed for the ship.

  “That’s Bryar’s new lover, Sym,” old Amon told Hagen in a whisper. “They met three months ago.”

  Sansa’s mouth dropped open at the way the Lorathi didn’t seem to mind discussing each other’s lovers openly, even when there were strangers present.

  “It was easier for her to bear Reeve’s death. She’s always been stronger than me, or I would have let go of Sinan’s memory long ago.”

  “You were better than your sister once, Hagen. In Norvos,” the steward pointed out.

  “I was indeed a better merchant than an outlaw, I think, but that was long ago,” Hagen replied in a serious tone.

  “Who is Reeve?” Sansa couldn’t help but ask.

  “He was a nobleman and Bryar’s lover for years before they got married. He died some years ago,” Hagen answered her. “They never had any children together.”

  The steward coughed and said, “She really missed you, you know. And needed you when the man died.”

  Hagen Edar took a moment before answering, “I missed her too. We should get going.”

  Hagen beckoned Sandor and Sansa to follow him, as he and his steward led the way away from the harbor of Lorath into the city, the provisions Amon had come to buy now forgotten. Sansa exchanged a look with Sandor, and giggled when she felt a hot breath on her ear. Nan was playing with her hair. She stroked her mare’s muzzle as Sandor stepped closer to her, and asked her if she wanted to walk or ride.

  “Let’s walk, please,” she answered, starting to lead Nan down the street by the reins, while Sandor looked all around him, rigid and with a fierce expression on his face, as he loosened his sword in its scabbard.

  “Stay close, little bird.”

  “What do you think of Hagen’s family?” she asked him.

  “I think the steward is an idiot, and Bryar is much saner than Hagen, but not as friendly as her brother. Do you want to stay at their house or look for an inn, little bird?”

  “At their house would be more prudent,” she replied, realizing that Sandor was also the sort of man who didn’t mind admitting that she was more accomplished than him in some regards _. I wonder what he would say to this comparison he shares with_ _Hagen_. “They won’t charge us for the food or the roof over our heads, or the baths.” _If I wanted to do some task similar to Bryar’s, I know Sandor wouldn’t mind it one bit so long as he was sure I was safe_. This was another trait of her big man she hadn’t dwelt upon much, but which she appreciated. Sandor would allow her to take her place as the King in the North’s sister, and not try to rob her from whatever duty she had to perform under that title. _He_ _would encourage me as he did in King’s Landing, when he told me to stop chirping the sweet words my septa taught me and made me say what I was really thinking._

  Sandor smirked at her, staring at her face and her hair. “Aye, I think we both need to clean up. I stink.”

  Sansa shook her head, giving a resigned laugh. “Maybe you do, but I am sure I look just as dreadful as when we came out of the Kingswood.”

  She could still recall the scratches on her arms, and the twigs on the tangles of her auburn locks from that day. _My face was dirty and my beautiful gown torn all over_. Her current dress was a little dirty and crumbled, but not torn at least.

  “We’ve come a long way from that day, haven’t we?” Sandor pointed out thoughtfully in his deep voice.

  Sansa nodded, remembering the voyage aboard _The Summer_ _Bird_ and their stay at Pentos; the long Valyrian roads they’d traveled, and their home and experience at Great Norvos; their escape across the Hills of Norvos, and the old castle by Lorath Bay. “We have.”

  They fell silent after that, as they started looking around them at the Free City of Lorath, making Sansa wish she could have eyes on the back of her head and on her sides, so she could take in all the details of her surroundings. This place was very different from any other that Sansa had visited in Essos.

  Beyond the harbor and the warehouses that surrounded Lorath like a fortress, the waters of the Shivering Sea passed through the streets and heart of the city in wide canals that had bridges, both covered and uncovered, connecting the squares together. Sansa and her companions were walking down a very wide and long street, as Hagen explained to them that the principal streets were so big that thirty riders could ride abreast upon them. Skinny trees decorated the right side of the street, and a small market had been erected on the left where various Lorathi were spending their time, seated by small tables with the river before them, as both men and women fetched them drinks and food. Sansa smiled as she imagined spending some time here, with Sandor.

  As they left the main street by the wide canal behind, Sansa noticed that the streets were becoming smaller, with houses built so closely together that they shared the same walls. Most of the homes had a flat roof and a small garden at the front of the house, and the top of a few small towers scattered here and there at a distance were the only tall structures here. While they passed a building in the middle of a large square that was hosting a mummer’s show, Sandor asked Hagen what some structures that looked like the warehouses by the docks were, and was told that they used to indeed be warehouses, but were now used as a place where many families could live together.

  “My family lived in one of those buildings once, along with three other families,” he commented.

  Lorathi, Sansa noticed, didn’t seem inclined to decorate their city the way other places were. It was as big as Pentos or Norvos, and even if there were guild halls, alleys, drinking halls, and bath houses seen beside the canals, some of which were already frozen under winter’s grip, this city didn’t seem interested in frivolity and showing off their wealth. There wasn’t much color to the buildings, and they all looked to be the same as far as Sansa’s eyes could see. A few statues on their plinths were scattered here and there, but they were plain and simple work. There were fountains, but not so they could make the landscape pretty, they just served for the people to come and wash their clothes in them. _This place resembles White Harbor. Even in the air. It’s clean and cold. It smells of the North_. Sansa had a feeling she was going to enjoy life here.

  She focused her attention on the Lorathi walking around her and noticed that men wore furs and women had scarcely a piece of jewelry on them. The people paid them all curious glances, and some even avoided their eyes when Sandor looked at them, but there were some men and a woman who recognized Hagen and started talking to him, a smile on their faces. When they stopped right beside Edar and Amon as they waited for a small cart driven by a man to pass by, Sandor let his fingers brush against the length of hers affectionately, as if looking for a sign of reassurance from her, sending a small twinkling feeling up her arm. Sansa returned the gesture, her own fingers caressing Sandor’s with a smile.

  After walking for more than half an hour, Sansa was starting to consider riding Nan instead of walking when Sandor snarled at Edar to tell them how far must they still go.

  “Oh, it’s not long at all now,” the bandit answered, pointing ahead of him to the top of a very small gentle slope a short distance away, where a large house stood at its top like some bird of prey perched upon some rock beside the sea. “That big house over there, that’s The Ruins.”

  “Why do you call it like that?” she asked, curious.

  “Apparently my great-grandfather was the one who named it that,” Hagen replied, looking back at her. “There’s this story about how, when he was just a boy living in the streets, he came upon the big house, and vowed to himself he would one day be rich enough to buy it.”

  _At least the Edar’s aren’t shy of telling everyone about their true origins_ , Sansa thought, believing that not many people in the Seven Kingdoms would be this honest.

  “But that doesn’t explain why your family calls it The Ruins,” Sansa pointed out.

  “Because, when my great-grandfather was a boy, the house was just some abandoned ruin. Long ago, a rich family of noble Lorathi blood had lived there, but when they abandoned it for an even bigger house, they stopped taking care of this one. My great-grandfather saw some beauty in the old building, though, and wanted to be a part of what it represented. And so he went to work with a merchant at one of the warehouses, and over the years he became the most prominent man in the business and bought the house, naming it The Ruins. I wasn’t born before he died, but my father said that when his time came, he died with a content smile on his face.”

  “Didn’t he fix the house once he bought it?” Sandor asked, looking at the outlaw. “From here it still looks like some old ruins to me.”

  “Aye, they do, don’t they?” put in old Amon. “I told Hagen and Bryar and their father to fix it many times, but all these Edars seem to like it the way it is. Bryar only tells me to run along as if I were a young boy whenever I mention the matter to her.”

  Hagen put his arm affectionately around his steward, and kindly returned his attention to him. Sansa and Sandor exchanged a look, not very sure what to make of this family tale. Amon and Edar walked down an alley to a street beside the small coastline of Lorath, a short distance away from where the harbor ended. Sansa saw many Lorathi strolling leisurely down the beach in the gathering dusk of late afternoon; small children and even some dogs played by the sea. It was a pretty sight.

  A few steps down the road, they came upon the beginning of a tall red wall that enclosed the land belonging to Hagen’s family. The entrance to The Ruins was a very tall door with three wide steps, and two statues flanking its side like sentinels. The steps and the statues were covered in green moss and looked very old. The entrance had a long pitched roof, with one short side and one very long side, erected by thick columns, also covered in moss.

  Hagen climbed the steps enthusiastically, peering inside to the wonders beyond the entrance and sighed deeply. He then turned around, hand on his hips, and said, “Welcome to my home.”

  _He looks so happy. I wonder if I will be so composed when I lay eyes upon Winterfell’s old grey walls again_. Sansa followed the steward, with Sandor bringing up the rear, both of them noticing that the entrance was thankfully wide enough for Stranger and Nan to pass through it. She let out a sigh just as Edar had done when she caught sight of The Ruins at long last. A very large garden, covered here and there with snow, surrounded the house, which had been erected in the middle of the family’s lands, decorated with trees, bushes, flowers, all of which looked to have been allowed to overgrow more than was necessary. Birds were singing in the tree tops, and dogs and even some chickens could be heard some short distance away. The house itself looked to Sansa like some Westerosi castle, since it had towers at its side and was built of stone. It was two stories high and wide of both length and width. It also had many windows and a domed roof at the top.

  “Where can we house the horses?” Sandor rasped.

  Amon put two fingers into his mouth and whistled, quite loudly for a man in his sixties. Three skinny boys appeared from a corner of the house, followed by a trail of barking dogs at their heels. They stopped before their party, gawking at the sight of Sandor, failing to recognize that their master’s brother was home.

  “Boys, take the horses to the stable. See that they are fed and taken care of.”

  The bravest of the boys nodded and stepped forward to take Stranger’s reins, but Sandor growled, “Unless you fancy a black eye and your ear bitten off, you’ll show me the way to the stables.”

  Sansa passed Nan’s reins to another boy, with a small apologetic smile, and watched as Sandor followed the boys to a corner of the garden where an old little shack that served as the stables.

  “Byan saved my life when that black horse almost killed me, you know,” Hagen told Amon.

  The steward looked with wide scared eyes at his favorite family member as Edar recalled the night he had been caught by the caravan thanks to Stranger, and Sandor had been the one to convince everyone they shouldn’t hang the outlaw straight away. Amon shook his head in disapproval at Hagen, and muttered under his breath all the way across the garden once Sandor returned with their saddles under his arms, and they began to walk towards the house.

  Amon opened the wide tall doors and stepped inside, followed by the others. When Sansa stepped across the threshold, her mouth dropped open a little, all of their footsteps echoing. A very tall and vast hall was before them, with a candelabrum and colored leaded glass on the windows that decorated the walls all the way up to the domed ceiling that had old peeled off paintings on the inside for decoration. It was a dark hall, with only a long dining table and chairs for decoration, and many doors on the sides that led to corridors that took you to the kitchens, the garden behind the house, or some solar. A serpentine staircase was erected in one corner, which went up to the bedrooms as well.

  Two elderly women entered the hall by a side door just as Amon closed the front ones behind Sansa, Sandor and Hagen. They ran to hug Hagen, tears appearing in their eyes the moment they saw him, while he laughed and hugged them tightly back. Amon waited for them to part before instructing them to ready the rooms in the left wing.

  “No, Amon,” Hagen said, casting a knowing look at Sandor and Sansa, standing by the door silently. “Give my friends the room by the sea. I think they would prefer that one.”

  Sandor narrowed his eyes at the outlaw, but Edar only laughed. “You’ll see why soon enough. Jeyne, Byan, please follow Amon. He will lead you to your room. We will meet at dinner time.”

  Sansa nodded and said, “Thank you, Hagen. Your hall is very hospitable.”

  Edar grinned. “You should thank Amon. This old bugger is the one responsible for how smoothly things run in this place.”

  And with a short nod he turned around and climbed the staircase, two steps at a time.

  Amon spared her and Sandor a look before saying, “Follow me. Leave your saddlebags here. I will have them sent to your room at once after you’ve taken a look at it and seen if you like it.”

  Sandor put the saddles on the ground carefully, and sparing one last look at them, he placed his hand on the small of Sansa’s back, and strode behind her as she started to follow Amon across the hall. The old man opened the door to the garden behind the house, and led them across it, passed a small fountain to the right corner of the Edar’s land a short distance away from the main house. A flight of stone quarry stairs was before them, that twisted to the right and onto a covered passageway with a wall on one side, and rectangular windowpanes on the other that overlooked the garden below. The windows had no glass on them but were covered with ivy instead. The waves of the sea could be heard from here.

  “Here we are,” said the steward, unlocking the dark door at the end of the passageway. “This is the room.”

  He stepped aside, and Sansa quickly entered their bedroom, a smile on her face, her heart beating excitedly for some reason. Sandor strode inside as well and they both looked around them silently, taking in the place where they would be sleeping for a time.

_How lovely_ , Sansa thought, clapping her hands together, her eyes taking in the big hearth, the four posted bed with red velvet curtains, a big wooden round bathtub, a small table in a corner with a chair, some rugs scattered on the floor, a large tapestry and a mirror as decoration to the walls. The bedroom had a pyramid roof, and a window set in the wall across from the door. Sansa walked over to it and peered outside, eager to see the view from here. Her eyes saw the beach which she had spied earlier, filled with Lorathi spending away their afternoon, with the cold sea to her left if she craned her neck a little to the right.

  “You like it?” Sandor asked her, with a grin. She knew he could already tell that she did, and very much.

  She nodded and said, “And you?”

  “It’ll do. Steward, you said something about having our belongings sent to us at once if we agreed to this room. We do. Have the saddles sent here at once.”

  Amon took a moment to answer Sandor, looking daggers up at him. “Master Hagen said that you saved his life. Thank you.”

  Sansa saw how Sandor blinked, surprised at this turn of events. Her big man stared at the steward, at a loss to what to say. Finally, he simply shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “It was nothing.”

  Amon smiled at Sandor and bowed to Sansa, before closing the bedroom door  behind him, promising them to have their saddles sent up at once and telling them that dinner would be ready soon. When they were left alone, Sansa smiled at Sandor and went to sit on the bed, unlacing her riding boots as she remarked, “That was very nice of Amon, and of you, even if you both forgot that it was thanks to Stranger that Hagen’s life was in danger in the first place.”

  Sandor grinned in amusement. Sansa noticed that his grey eyes were regarding her hungrily. She bent her head down, resuming taking off her boots, her long hair falling about her face in auburn curtains that concealed her smile. She always felt butterflies in her tummy when Sandor looked at her like that.

  He sat down, his warm strong body comforting beside hers. After a moment, she felt his hand on the nape of her neck, making her drop her riding boot to the floor, as he buried his hand in her hair. Then he bent his head to try and catch her eye. Sansa looked at him through the hair that was curtaining her face, and straightened up when she saw that Sandor was no longer smiling.

  “What is it?” she asked him after an awkward momentary silence, placing her hand on his leg unconsciously, unsure as to how to discern his expression.

  His eyes fell quickly to her hand, before he leaned closer to her and said in a rasping quiet voice, “Nothing.”

  Sansa laughed at that, but not unkindly. She slid the hand she had placed on Sandor’s knee up his thigh and said, “My silly big man.”

  He raised his eyebrow at that, but she continued as a new thought occurred to her, “I think I know why Hagen wanted us to have such an isolated room, away from everybody.”

  Sandor laughed once he realized what she was daring to say, her cheeks blushing, before he replied, “Come here.”

  Sandor pressed her close to him, his hand on the back of her head, his hard arms going around her as she shifted sideways on the edge of the bed to face him better. When their heads were as close as they could get to each other without touching, Sandor rubbed the tip of his nose with hers, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to hers slowly, savoring it. Sansa sat still, letting his mouth gently part her own before allowing his tongue slip inside her mouth, opening it with a sigh.

  It didn’t matter how Sandor kissed her. Every time he did it she felt as if time stood still. She let her own tongue slide inside Sandor’s mouth after he pressed her even closer to him, and as they kissed alternately hard and slow, their arms closed around each other, they allowed themselves to fall sideways upon the bed. Sansa opened her eyes when neither of them broke the kiss after this change of positions. She let Sandor press her down on the mattress; he shifted to move above her, and she forgot everything, as their long legs entwined together, and he sucked her tongue, making her instantly return the gesture eagerly. The voyage on the ship had only taken five days, but they were touching each other as if it had been five years since the last time they’d done this.

  Sandor had left her mouth so he could start grazing his teeth on her neck, licking the skin there more than once, and then kissing her chest, right above the rise of her beasts, even as their touches became more insistent and arousing, his body upon her, making her acutely aware of his need against her legs as she tried to catch her breath.

  A knock at the door startled them both, making Sansa breathe loudly after letting out an exasperated sigh, while Sandor cursed out loud and asked who it was.

  “We’ve brought your saddles, my lord and lady,” a servant replied.

  Sansa gave a resigned laugh at the sight of Sandor’s face, his eye burning with desire for her, as he answered, “Leave them out there, for fuck’s sake!”

  “Sandor, I am desperate for a bath,” she remembered quickly, her heat thumping fast inside her chest, as she tried to sit up in bed, a task that was rather difficult with a man as big as Sandor above her, his body pinning her to the bed. 

  “Seven hells,” he muttered loudly, before roaring at the servants outside their door, “And bring hot water for a bath.”

  “It’s already here, my lord,” the servant’s scared voice called back. “Master Hagen told us to fetch some and bring it here.”

  Sandor grunted, letting his head drop, burying it on the crook of Sansa’s neck, making her try and call out, “We… Please, wait a moment!”

  Her arms held Sandor to her, as a sense of disappointment at being interrupted descended upon her. Her big man kissed her neck, then her cheek and then her mouth quickly before rasping, “Take your bath, little bird. I’ll be back shortly and take mine.”

  He rose from the bed and offered her his hand to help her sit up. Sandor waited for her to adjust her hair and skirts quickly before striding over to almost wrench the door open from its hinges, turning around to give her one last look, before quickly pushing past the startled servants, walking away. 

  “Come in,” Sansa instructed the servants, trying to calm the strong beating of her heart. She paced the room as they filled the tub, her mind so full of different thoughts she couldn’t quite make sense of them all right now. It was only after the servants had finally left her and she was taking a hot soothing bath, that Sansa realized she wished the servants hadn’t interrupted them. And then she found herself toying with the possibility of having Sandor inside this tub, bathing with her. She gulped, because the strong certainty of knowing how much she wanted those things to happen overwhelmed her a little. _I must have the courage to enjoy myself with him with no restraints_. She even bit her lip as she remembered the way Sandor’s hands had felt on her, and the way his hard body trembled under her touch, as she rubbed her legs together.

  Hours later, after Sandor had taken his own bath, one of the elderly women that had greeted Hagen earlier came to tell them that dinner was ready; and as she led the way back through the garden to the house with a lantern, Sandor took hold of Sansa’s hand in the dark and kissed it. When they entered the hall, Sansa blinked. The place had been lit up with at least a hundred bright candles. Servants were placing plates and cups on the long table.

  Dinner that first night at The Ruins was delicious. In order to celebrate Hagen’s return, the cooks had prepared salted fish, crab stew, shrimp and lobster for everyone to choose from, along with fried bread, and wine and ale to wash it all down with. Sansa sat between Hagen and Sandor, the latter’s hand holding hers on top of her knee under the table, their thighs touching. The steward stood at the back of the hall, instructing the servants what meal to fetch next, and when to remove someone’s plate. Sansa enjoyed herself and learned a little more of the Edar family’s history. Apparently, Hagen and Bryar had lived in Great Norvos since they were little after their father had taken them to that city to expand his business.

  “Hagen,” Sansa said, curiously at one point. “Why didn’t you return with Bryar here after your father died?”

  “I had already married at the time Father died, Jeyne,” Hagen explained. “She wanted to stay in Great Norvos; her family was nearby, and I was a successful merchant there. But Father had seen that Bryar was just as smart as I was–or even more, really–and so he asked her to return to Lorath, and take care of the family business.”

  “And this is the first time you’ve returned to your homeland since you got married?” Sandor asked, before taking a long drink of wine.

  “No,” Edar replied, shaking his head. “After the High Worm exiled me, I came back for some days, to ask Bryar to help me out in my plans for revenge.”

  “But Bryar refused you, and rightly so, since it was a mad plan,” the steward commented. “ _Ridiculous_ , I remember hearing her call it more than once.”

  “She didn’t disapprove of me avenging myself on Nervere,” Hagen explained, pointedly. “Only of the manner in which I wanted to do it.”

  _Of course_ , Sansa thought. _And since everyone thinks Hagen is mad, Bryar knew becoming an outlaw would probably not work_.

  “And rightly so,” Amon insisted, his jaw set stubbornly. “Becoming an outlaw… If your father had been alive, he would’ve–”

  “He would’ve turned in his grave,” Hagen interrupted, knowing what Amon was going to say before the words were out of his mouth. “Yes, yes. He would’ve turned in his grave for almost everything I’ve ever done since my wife died.”

  Sansa searched quickly for something different to say so that this conversation didn’t turn out to be painful for their host.

  “Your house is very beautiful, Hagen.

  The former outlaw laughed and looked about the hall. “You think so? Well, I suppose it has its charm, but I’ve never cared for how it looks much.”

  They all spent around an hour more in the dining hall, and Hagen promised her and Sandor that he would show them the city tomorrow. They finally retired for the evening, Hagen enthusiastically saying he was going out to a tavern to drink with his childhood friends. Sansa was content to let her head drop on Sandor’s shoulder as they returned to their room across the garden, while she shivered and yawned, sleepily. It was a good thing that Amon had assured them that a fire had been lit in the fireplace and more fur blankets had been taken to their bed.

  Her last thoughts before she drifted off to a heavy sleep, with Sandor holding her close to him, was that tomorrow she should get a new gown at a market, since she only had the one she had worn today and another one left.

 

***

 

  A cold wind woke Sandor up. He opened his eyes, still lying on his back the way he’d fallen asleep last night, and saw his long sword handing by the post of the headboard were he’d placed it last night. _Good, no one murdered us in our sleep_ , he thought vaguely, wishing he could just close his eyes again and return to his sleep. But the moment he’d woken up, he’d felt the weight of Sansa’s head upon his shoulder; and it only took him one glance down at her to know he was not going back to sleep if he could spend some time instead looking at the beautiful face of the little bird, facing him as she went on dreaming. Sansa’s arm was thrown across his chest, encircling him loosely, while her slender legs rested either above or in between his own long ones, and one of his arms was underneath her at an angle that allowed him to hug her. Sansa’s neck was tilted up, Sandor saw, staring at her beautiful face for as long as he wished. The little bird’s breathing matched the pace of his own, the rhythm of it causing her body to rise and fall on top of his chest. Despite realizing that he was going to want to take a piss soon, the weight of Sansa upon him felt so good, and her face looked so peaceful that Sandor couldn’t bring himself to move, the warm body next to his making him feel bloody good.

  The bed in this bedroom was big, but unfortunately not big enough for the likes of him, so that his cold feet were peering out of the fur blankets. Sandor stretched his legs lazily, trying not to disturb the little bird, listening to her soft breathing and the sound of distant waves outside their bedchamber, his fingers running up and down the curve of Sansa’s tiny waist in slow movements, as well as from her shoulder down the length of her back, while he went on staring at her. _I could stay here_ _forever_. _Holding her like this, with not a care in the world_. Sandor sighed resignedly at those thoughts. He couldn’t just forget that there were many things to worry about, no matter how much he longed for things never to change between him and Sansa

  When Sansa shifted within his embrace, Sandor rested his chin on the top of her head after kissing her there, marveling at the way the little bird could always smell this good before his mind strayed to more serious business that he just couldn’t seem to be able to forget for a single day now.

  _This has been too easy. There hasn’t been a price for us to pay yet_. He had always known that the moment he feared awaited them in the Seven Kingdoms, but having heard yesterday about how Bryar Edar had fucked her husband for years before they got married, not caring one wit if the whole of Lorath knew about them, had brought once again to Sandor’s mind the true meaning of their reality. _It won’t be like that for us. The Starks, the Houses of the North, the lords of the Riverlands, the Lannisters, and every fucking family will oppose our union,_ _and destroy_ _what we’ve built between us ever since we crossed the Narrow Sea_. There was a way he and Sansa could take, though, and the more he thought about it, the wiser he deemed it. It would have to wait till they reached Braavos at least, since there were no septs-beyond-the-sea here in Lorath; nor any godswoods, Hagen Edar had assured him.

  _We can discuss the details later; the witnesses and so on. First, I need to see if the little bird will be willing to go through with this_ , Sandor decided, once again looking down at Sansa as she shifted beside him and sighed in her sleep a little. _I hope she agrees_. He knew how much she would want to have her family with her in that day. Sansa was the one that mattered. _We have talked about it, but never where it would be or when. I only wish her family would accept our union for her sake_ , but that was stupid, like thinking Gregor could one day become a brother of the Faith.

  Sandor must have been thinking for at least half an hour more, as he waited for her to wake up.  He wondered in amazement how he wasn’t more nervous at the thought of doing this. Instead _,_ Sandor Clegane was as happy as he had ever been, certain he’d made the right decision, and deeply in love with the woman sleeping in his arms.

  Dawn was long gone when Sansa finally started to stir up, making little noises as she stretched on the bed, her legs and feet sliding against his as the little bird brought her hand from caressing his chest to rub away the heavy sleep from her eyes with her fists, while he looked down at her with amusement.

  “Morning, lazy bird,” he rasped by way of greeting.

  Sansa let out a little moan, still stretching, as she moved her head and turned her neck up to look at him.

  “The crow calling the raven black,” Sansa remarked with a smile that was full of warmth. “I don’t see you up and about either.”

  Sandor snorted and shrugged, his hand still caressing the perfect body that melted so well with his.

  “I couldn’t move without waking you,” he pointed out.

  “How thoughtful of you, my big man” the bird chirped, giving him a sleepy loving look before pressing her lips to his, propping herself up with her elbows. “Thank you, Sandor.”

  _Always so bloody polite and considerate_ , Sandor thought, as Sansa yawned again tiredly, shaking her head slightly making her locks shift before sitting up in the bed and stretching her arms behind her head.

  She turned to look at him and said, “Oh, and good morning to you too.”

  Sandor shook his head resignedly. Sitting up in bed, he told her, “Stay,” his arms encircling her waist, his hands fisting the fabric of her nightgown tightly. He didn’t want her to go yet. Nuzzling his head in the crook of her neck, he kissed the skin that her nightgown revealed, pressing her close to him. A moan escaped her, and Sansa threw her head back so that she could expose more of her skin to him.

  Sansa brought her own hand on top of the one he had on her neck, her delicate fingers intertwining with his own long ones and moved it downwards under her nightgown to her collarbone.

  “You have such large hands,” she remarked, in a hoarse whisper, almost in awe.

  He only grunted at that. After a long moment of him trailing the warm skin of the bird’s neck with his mouth, teeth and tongue, she remarked breathlessly, “Sandor, we have to get ready.”

  “No, don’t go,” he whispered, bringing his mouth so close to her ear that his breath tickled Sansa, making her giggle and turn around so that she could kiss his cheek.

  “We both must,” she reminded him, smiling, showing all of her white teeth as he pressed the stubble of his good cheek against her smooth skin.

  “No,” he persisted, smirking like the bloody fool in love that he was.

  Sansa must have seen something on his face for she arched her eyebrows, her heavy lids no longer sleepy.

  “Why not?” she asked him, before Sandor began to tickle her on her stomach. Sansa instantly stilled underneath him, exclaiming, “No!” while she tried to wriggle away from his arms. Sandor began to laugh with her after catching sight of Sansa’s face as she somehow ended up sprawled on his legs now, gasping in between breaths, when he didn’t stop tickling her after she’d changed positions so abruptly, not even noticing that his hands were more than just grazing her breasts as he administered his little tortures.

  “Sandor, please, stop!” she managed to gasp, with tears in her eyes, still giggling like a madwoman when he threw back his head and barked a laugh, moving his body above hers, pinning her to the bed even as she struggled for freedom. When he spread her legs apart with his knee her body immediately responded to his behavior, as Sansa, with wide eyes, brought her legs upwards so that she could pin him between them.

  Sandor slowed down Sansa’s tickles as her beautiful Tully eyes meet his with a love that made his heart stop beating for a moment. He felt the tension leaving her body, trusting him.

  “Gods, you’re merciless,” she exclaimed, before he bent down, and she returned the kiss he had been longing to give her. Sandor caught Sansa’s lower lip with his and kissed her slowly, taking his time to move his mouth against hers in a way that made both of them smile into the kiss at the same moment, their heavy breathing mingled, their eyes opening to peer at the other briefly, and no distances between them. When he slipped his tongue inside Sansa’s mouth, the tip of hers touched his, toying with it and making Sandor felt his cock pressing hard against his breeches. Sansa kissed him back eagerly, their hips met, Sandor needing the friction of he received when he made certain the little bird was feeling his need for her between her long legs.

  When they drew apart, Sandor cupped Sansa’s cheek gently. Sansa’s chest was heaving, and he knew she was aroused, as she pressed her forehead to his, throwing her arms around his neck, refusing to let go. _How the fuck is it possible that I can feel so much for someone so easily when I never cared shit for anyone but Stranger before?_ he wondered as he finally collapsed beside her on the bed, holding her hand in his. After some moments, Sandor’s eyes followed Sansa as she finally sat up on the edge of the bed, readjusting her nightgown, her head bent down so that her curls hid her expression.

  Sandor still didn’t want to stop this, though. So sitting just behind Sansa on the bed, one leg thrown beside one of hers so that they were in the same position as when they both were riding Stranger, Sandor brought himself close to Sansa’s, pressing his cock against the back of the little bird’s arse, leaving them both in no doubt that she could indeed feel him after she drew a sharp intake of breath. Sansa didn’t move. She remained still as he drew even closer to her till her back was pressed against his chest.

  When the little bird turned around, searching for his face, she ended up wriggling closer to his cock. _Seven sodding hells!_

  Sandor heard her gulp, and he brought one of his hands to caress her neck, his breathing growing louder as he bit Sansa’s ear, excited by the way his cock felt pressed against her back. He brought his large hand to cover her eyes for some reason as he asked her, “You want to get ready, little bird?”

  Sandor removed his hand from Sansa when she turned to look at the wall, letting her head drop back till it rested against his chest, before bringing both of his hands to cover the little bird’s eyes.

  Sansa chuckled and shook her head. “No, I want to stay here with you.”

  He smirked at that and hugged her. They stayed there on the bed, touching and talking about what to expect of this day when Hagen would take them around Lorath, until the old steward sent a servant to tell them breakfast awaited them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the chapter, my beautiful readers! Thanks for reading it :D Comments are love (:


	33. Lorath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Disclaimers  
> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> *The best betas anyone could ever ask for: onborrowedwings & nysandra!! I take my hat off to you both again for your help :D   
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.
> 
> \- I would like to dedicate this one to bgona, a great friend! :D

  Sansa was very happy during the following weeks. After spending almost two months on the road with the caravan, before settling at the castle by the Bay of Lorath where the only crowded place to be found was _The Stinking Fish_ inn in the little town of Munne, every morning here felt like a breath of fresh air to her. Each dawn brought with it the promise of an exciting new day for her and Sandor to do whatever they wanted in the Free City of Lorath, and they could come and go without any questions being asked whenever they pleased. There were so many places to visit in this city, they discovered, and so many strangers to observe that Sansa at times wanted to spend all day long outdoors.

  Sandor and her visited markets and bathhouses, gardens and mummer shows, and at night accompanied Hagen to an inn for drinks and some dancing a couple of times. Sansa’s big man had been at first reluctant to go, since he didn’t deemed it right for her to visit some tavern with drunken men, but the former outlaw had assured them that the inn was a decent place for her to visit.

  That first trip to the inn was the funniest time Sansa recalled enjoying in a long while. She was drunk on the magic of the night, giddy with glamour, swept away by beauties she had dreamt of all her life and never dared hope to know in a place like this. _This is even better than a grand ball attended by all the nobility of Great Norvos_.

  Once she would’ve turned her nose up at the mere mention of dining on greasy roasted goat and ale, but the crowd in the common room was a merry lot, and soon enough Sansa was laughing and dancing with Hagen to lively songs that were not too bawdy.

  “Will you dance with Jeyne, Byan?” Hagen had asked Sandor when he first asked Sansa if she cared to dance.

  “Don’t dance,” Sandor had growled, taking a sip of his tankard and avoiding her disappointing face.

  Yet after almost an hour of dancing–of remembering how much she loved to do this even if the way Lorathi danced at the inn was completely different to the styles she had learned as a child and at court–Sansa was flushed and a little drunk and determined to have at long last a proper first dance with her big man.

  So heading determinedly towards the alcove where Sandor was sullenly and silently brooding alone, a scowl on his face, Sansa stepped up beside him. She glanced around them quickly to make sure no one was listening and said, as she attempted to catch her breath, “Sandor, _please_ , won’t you dance with me? I’m only asking for _one_ song.”

  “Little bird, you know I don’t dance,” Sandor spat, running a hand through his hair, glancing at her briefly, undressing her with his eyes, “I wouldn’t know what to do or–”

  “Sandor, look around you,” she had interrupted in an angry whisper. “Nobody here is paying us any mind. You attract more attention by being the only person sitting down than you would by joining everybody. Please, I want to dance with the man I love.”

  Her big man had stared hard at her, and for a long moment he said nothing. His silence started to unnerve her after a time, but just as she was about to turn around and go away, Sandor had snarled, “Seven hells, all right, bird.”

  She had beamed at him and had clapped her hands excitedly together at his long awaited agreement. With a gulp and a shake of the head, Sandor stood up and walked beside her towards the corner of the room where everybody was dancing, and said in a rough voice, “Let’s bloody well get on with it then.”

  Sansa knew that dancing was not something Sandor had probably ever done before, so she was happy when he surprised her with dancing better than Hagen did. He wasn’t a skilled or graceful dancer, but he didn’t step on her feet once, and was content with allowing her to lead when he was unsure as to how to proceed. Hagen winked at them when he saw them, but Sandor didn’t see or care. When the dance ended, he didn’t return to his seat, though.

  Looking up at him with a disarming smile, she saw how that gesture helped to make her love make up his mind, and cursing under his breath, he brought one of his large hands to rest on her waist, while the other one grabbed her hand and brought it upwards, pressing it between them. Sansa rested her free hand on Sandor’s arm and slowly moved in circles, letting him lead her this time. When the dance was over, Sandor bent down and without giving her a moment to breathe or blink, and kissed her deeply in front of everyone at the inn. 

  Sansa couldn’t help but burst into giggles when Hagen whistled at them loudly, but Sandor only shot him a murderous look that made him laugh and call to the servants working for the innkeep, “More wine and ale!”

  “I love you so much,” Sansa exclaimed, throwing her head back, laughing and showing Sandor her teeth.

  “No more than I love you,” he whispered, bending down so that she alone could hear him, as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The headache Sansa woke up with on the following morning didn’t hurt as much whenever she recalled the memories of her first dance with him.

  Sandor and Sansa had dinner in the little shops by the frozen canals on some occasions, mingling as best they could with the Lorathi sitting around them, as they all stared at the way Lorath came alive by night. But living at The Ruins was also quite fun. Since Bryar was away, and Hagen didn’t mind them exploring his house one bit, Sandor and her discovered many lovely places and hidden corners in which they daringly learned what the other one wanted or was curious about, discovering what pleased them.

  And there was even more than that to make their stay at the Edars’ agreeable. The food always tasted delicious, and, despite the cold, Sansa and her big man were able to spend many afternoons laying down on a couple of blankets in the garden of the house, underneath the shadow of the trees. Sometimes just looking at each other in silence was enough, but they also talked, laughed, told each other jests or stories, and even planned their future together in the North, cuddled underneath many furs.

  Sansa had blushed lightly when she had asked Sandor how many children he wished to have on one of these occasions, and had turned crimson when he couldn’t stop laughing for some reason at her. She had almost stormed away in embarrassment at one point, but he had taken hold of her hand, stopping her. After kissing her and telling her that he would be more than happy with whatever number of children they had, Sansa reluctantly frowned and nodded.

  During their stay in Lorath, they also began having little rows, but Sansa knew that considering how different Sandor and her were, it had always been bound to happen, and even more so now that they were together like this. Sometimes Sandor laughed at her expense, the corners of his mouth crinkling after he’d told her one of his bored, sardonic remarks, but only once did Sandor become really angry with her. It was when she had unconsciously wondered out loud how Ser Dontos would be faring these days, after watching a fool and some dwarves entertain a small crowd at a square.

  “And why in seven hells would you give a fuck about that bloody idiot, little bird?” Sandor had asked her, narrowing his eyes.

  Sansa had bitten her lip hard, quickly realizing the manner in which Sandor was going to react at hearing how she had trusted her Florian long ago, and true enough, her big man was not happy, his features twisting in anger as she went on with her tale.

  After he had roughly pointed out all the things that could’ve gone wrong had she gone on believing what Ser Dontos told her in the godswood of Maegor’s, Sandor had roared, “Bloody hells, and why didn’t you tell me all of this before, Sansa?”

  “I forgot!” she had returned, her anger rising. “So many things happened when we escaped that it slipped my mind, and later it was never important enough for me to remember it.”

  Sansa was starting to get vexed with Sandor’s reactions, and was afraid that he would suddenly storm away and go get drunk at a tavern again, like he’d done back in Great Norvos when Arman Nervere had kissed her. So when he didn’t do that, Sansa had thanked both the old gods and the new silently in great relief. When Sansa finally made Sandor _listen_ to her, her big man nodded in understanding and acceptance at the reasons behind her desperate actions with Ser Dontos. Yet he rasped he wasn’t happy with not knowing who had sent Dontos the Red to help her.

  _Whoever it was, it doesn’t matter now_ , Sansa realized later _. I’m glad I went away with Sandor. I would be suffering right now in King’s Landing, in case Ser Dontos had failed me completely_. And the thought of having to suffer in her golden cage without Sandor was unbearable. That night, instead of going away to a wineskin shop, Sandor and she talked for long hours in their bedroom before the fireplace, hugging each other, and telling the other about what it had been like for them both to live at the Red Keep after Joffrey killed her father.

  They let those ghosts rest, and were ready in the morning to move on with their lives, not looking back, aware that their relationship gained strength with every new obstacle they overcame, no matter how small, no matter if it was a trial in which Sandor’s life hanged by a thread, or a confession from the past.

  It had also dawned on Sansa, on one of those afternoons spent in the garden of The Ruins, that since the time to return to Westeros was near, she should at least get some of her wedding preparations done by herself, if the ceremony was to happen quickly. Sandor and she hadn’t talked about when it would happen, but Sansa knew that if they waited to get her family’s approval, and then for all the preparations to be done, then her wedding wouldn’t happen for months and months yet to come. _And I am not sure I can wait that long_ , she told herself honestly.  

  So the day after, accompanied by Amon, Sansa bought yards of yellow, white, grey and black satin, and on Sandor’s startled look at her return to The Ruins, explained, “I want us to be ready. I don’t need us to have a grand affair that would take months to be arranged. And though I would prefer it if my family was with us on that day, if in the end we must have a hasty ceremony, somewhere, as long as you are there I won’t complain.”

  Sandor had stared at her speechless for a moment, but later that night when they were alone in bed, he had clung to her in a possessive embrace that Sansa more than willingly returned.

  Beside the fabric for their wedding cloaks, Sansa also went to buy clean cloths when her moonblood visited her. It was hard at first to find the stall inside the market where she could find them–for she couldn’t bring herself to ask some servant in the Edars’ household about it in case they started gossiping about her and Sandor–but once she encountered an old woman who looked trusting enough, everything went well in that regard.

  Some days later, Sansa returned to the same market so she could order two new dresses at a shop where pretty gowns were being made and sold. One was for her everyday use, but the second one was quite special, since Sansa had in mind that she might wear it when she and Sandor were taken to her lady mother’s and Robb’s presence. It was a gown in the colors of House Stark. _And if I wear the fur-trimmed cloak Sandor gave me on our namedays, the fact that the fabric isn’t fit enough for a Princess of the North to wear will be concealed_. Not that her family would mind her attire, but Sansa was a lady and certain details were expected of her.

  One morning when they had been in Lorath for three weeks, as Sansa, Sandor and Hagen broke their fast in the dining hall of The Ruins, old Amon came to bring Hagen a paper that made Edar almost jump enthusiastically on his seat. 

  “What is it now, Edar?” Sandor asked, staring at the outlaw as if he was a madman.

  “Amon, when did you get this?” Hagen asked his steward, not even hearing Sandor’s question.

  “It just arrived, lad,” the old man said, grinning from ear to ear. “We will be attending it, won’t we?”

  Sansa looked curiously at Hagen, and saw the way his dark merry eyes brightened up in excitement, and he answered, “Aye, Amon. Of course we will!”

  “What is it?” Sansa asked, trying to get a good look at the words on the parchment.

  Hagen finally seemed to remember his guests and said apologetically, “Oh, I’m sorry, Jeyne. I am being rude. Please, take a look, isn’t it exciting news? It’s the biggest event of the year in Lorath!”

  He handed her the paper and Sansa quickly took it in her hands, reading its message, as Sandor looked over her shoulders at the parchment.

  “Why is it so bloody exciting that the Lord of Lorath is celebrating his nameday?” Sandor rasped, voicing the question Sansa was silently wondering.

  “Because the Lords of Lorath always make a grand affair of it,” Amon answered her big man, standing behind Hagen’s chair, holding his hands behind him.

  “They do,” Edar agreed. “No matter the Lord, this always turns out to be quite the peak on a Lorathi’s life. Everyone, whether they be common people or nobles, or foreigners, can participate.”

  “What do they do at this event?” Sansa asked the former outlaw, handing him back the paper.

  “Many things. They city hosts a reasonable amount of games in celebration. They start in three days and will likely last for a week. Would you like to go?”

  Sandor and Sansa exchanged a look and quickly agreed, as Sandor placed his warm hand above her knee under the table and squeezed it. She returned her gaze to him and smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder, happily remembering the days of the tournament in King’s Landing held on her father’s honor. These games sound like that. There were no knights in the Free Cities, so there surely wouldn’t be a mêlée or any jousting, but it sounded exciting to her.

  Hagen Edar and old Amon smiled at their consent, the former rubbing his hands together and flexing his fingers, while the latter nodded and said, “I shall send word of your answer at once to the Lord.”

  Sandor glanced at Sansa, who nodded and grinned.

 

***

 

  The last day of the games was too fucking cold for Sandor’s liking, and yet the sun was actually bright today considering this island was in the north. He was making his way through the crowd, which was an easy task thanks to his height, bulk and face, to the seats Hagen had bought for the three of them, as well as for his old steward. The celebrations in honor of the Lord of Lorath’s nameday had been better than Sandor would’ve expected, and had even reminded him of the tourneys he’d visited in King’s Landing and Lannisport years back, even if there had been no jousting or mêlées, and thankfully, no knights. There were many participants from other Free Cities, most of whom were from Braavos, Pentos or Ibben, but Sandor hadn’t spied any fellow Westerosi anywhere.

  _No wonder. Not until Hagen got his invitation had I ever heard of these games._ Back at the Red Keep no one had ever learned about them, but that was little wonder since no one at court cared what happened in this part of the world.

  Sansa was more fascinated with the games than he would’ve thought. She had looked on at the different matches with eager bright eyes and a beaming smile, clapping her hands together in enthusiasm whenever she won in the bets they made, looking ravishing. Today, being the last day of the games, she had done her hair differently, but she looked just as beautiful as she always did. And the pink gown Edar had given her had a neckline that made it too buggering hard for anyone to look away from her round perfectly full breasts, as it showed the slenderness of her waist, or the sway of her hips when she walked. 

  Had Sandor not known that Hagen was not interested in the little bird, and was still too fucked up by his wife’s death, he would have struck the bugger’s eyes out at his daring, but since Sansa had been very pleased with the gown, Sandor had remained silent. He knew she didn’t have as many pretty dresses as she would like, and since Edar had insisted on her accepting it in thanks for allowing him to join them after they left the caravan, after she had replied that it was too much, Sandor had laid his hand on her shoulder and, bending down so that she alone could hear him, he’d rasped low in her ear, “Take it. I can’t wait to see you in it.”

  His bird had blushed and stammered a quiet, “Thank you,” to Hagen, and Sandor thought that was the end of that. _I was fucking wrong, wasn’t I?_

  Sansa looked very pretty, the color of her gown bringing out the auburn of her hair, and Sandor had done nothing all morning long but notice how men stared hungrily at her, the way a beggar would look at a hundred gold dragons. His hand had gone to the pommel of his sword a thousand times today, ruining his concentration on the first matches of today, grounding his teeth in frustration.

  The little bird was at present sitting beside old Amon in the stalls, asking him hundreds of questions. Sandor had left her alone for some moments, and was just spying her at some distance when his gaze was suddenly caught by a man in black, with a quiver full of arrows on his back and a bow on his hand.

  _Seven hells, is that Edar?_ Sandor wondered, straining his neck to try and get a better look at the man’s retreating back. _What the fuck is that madman doing with all of that?_ Hagen had excused himself to Sansa and him and his old wet-nurse about half an hour ago, and Sandor had barely paid his absence any mind, but now he felt too curious as to simply walk away and return to his seat, despite the fact that trumpets were announcing that the last competition of the games was about to start; the archery contest. _He can’t be…?_

  Following the direction Edar had taken, Sandor strode through the people, the small pavilions of the competitors, the stalls and the banners snapping fiercely in the air, to the field where the archers were gathering, almost ready for the signal to begin. Sandor shouldered the fat boy beside Hagen out of the way, as the bugger took out a couple of arrows from his quiver. The boy yelled at him in Valyrian with an accent that was unknown to his ear, “Watch where you’re going, brute!”

  Sandor spared the boy a look and spat, “Bugger you.”

  The boy turned white as he saw his burns, and quickly looked away. When Sandor noticed another archer raise his eyebrows at him, he snarled, “And you as well.”

  Hagen had turned around at the sounds of the commotion, and exclaimed in surprise, “Byan, what _are_ you doing _here_?”

  Turning his attention to the madman, Sandor answered, “Following you. What the bloody hells are you doing? You aren’t thinking of participating, are you?”

  Hagen scowled at him, slipping an arrow with brown feathers from his quiver before he nocked it to his bowstring determinedly. “Of course I am. I’m an excellent archer.”

  Sandor snorted in amusement. “ _You_?” _You’re one of the most useless men I’ve ever met_.

  “Indeed, me.” Leaning closer to him to avoid his competitors from overhearing, the madman asked him, “Have you forgotten what I was when your first met me? I didn’t become the most fabled outlaw in the Hills of Norvos for nothing, you know. Don’t believe me if it please you, but I’m a deadly archer. I have an exceptional sight, as these fools beside me are about to discover.”

  Sandor frowned at that. _He has a point_ , he thought, reluctantly. The Norvoshi in the caravan had almost pissed themselves when they realized whom they had caught thanks to Stranger, but Sandor had wondered more than once in the months after that night why Edar was considered to be the greatest outlaw when he was sodding harmless.

  _He raided the caravan by night, when it was still quite dark_. That was a clever move. Yet Sandor shook his head, unbelieving. He just couldn’t think of Hagen as good at anything until he was proved wrong. So he barked a laugh, and spared a glance at the fat boy who’d shouted at him.

  “The fool next to you looks so green he must still piss grass. So I reckon that you’re right. Even Jeyne could outshoot him easily.”

  “The boy you pushed a moment ago is Atus of Anders, and Amon told me he won this very match last year. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my friend, the competition is about to start.”

  It was true, Sandor realized. The crowd was shouting and the trumpets had stopped. Sandor stepped back from the field a short distance away from Edar, smirking, arms crossed in front of his chest, waiting to see if the outlaw’s lack of modesty was well deserved.

  The archery contest was a hundred paces, and there were three-and-ten competitors. Sandor saw the way Hagen drew the bowstring to his ear the moment the signal to begin was given, and swiftly loosed his shaft. The arrow whistled in the air and hit the target straight.

  _Seven bloody buggering hells!_ Sandor thought, incredulous, staring at the target with wide eyes as the crowd cheered all around him, angry that he had been proved wrong. After two more tries in which Hagen hit the target straight once again, Sandor was surprised, his opinion of the outlaw different from the one it’d been a moment ago. He could recognize a gifted archer when he saw one, and Edar definitely was one.

  The archery competition, Sandor learned later, was the most famous in the games because of the quality and quantity of participants, and the winning prize. With a shake of the head, he watched as the Lord of Lorath, a whale even fatter than the ship that had brought him and the little bird to this city, gave the bloody grinning madman his winnings.

  Sansa had wondered a few days back if it wouldn’t be wise for him to join the competitions, but he had shaken his head, not wishing to draw unwanted attention to him and her by becoming a winner.

  That night Hagen invited his old friends and Sansa and Sandor to celebrate his triumph at his favorite inn. It was the place where the little bird had made Sandor dance with her, he remembered, taking in the way Sansa was drinking from her cup little ladylike sips. He had never felt more conscious of his movements as he did when he held her in her arms in the middle of a crowd of drunk Lorathi and started moving, but he had liked dancing, Sandor had to admit with chagrin. _But how couldn’t I, when Sansa was the one I was with?_ _The one I was making happy by accepting_. He grinned at the sight and put his arm around her.

  “You’re supposed to drink deep,” he pointed out, before barking across the table at Edar, “Are you of any use with a sword?”

  The outlaw laughed at the question. “No, I’m not a very good swordsman, I’m afraid. I may have been had I been born and raised in the Seven Kingdoms, but since I wasn’t, I turned out to be terrible with a blade. I can’t use a sword to save my life, believe me. I learned that a couple of years back after raiding a merchant’s caravan and learned my lesson. I can’t lift a sword without doing more damage to myself than to my opponent.”

  Sansa, placing her hands on the surface of the table beside Sandor, exclaimed, “You can be skilled with other weapons beside a sword. When you were living in Norvos did you ever try out one of those dreadful axes the guards of the Bearded Priests are always wearing?”

  Shaking his head, Hagen smiled at the little bird. “No, I never learned how to use those, Jeyne. But before I became an outlaw, a friend of mine taught me how to fight with daggers, and after a month I won in a fight against him. He was quite the skilled dagger fighter, I must say. That turned out to be another of the reasons why I became the most fabled outlaw in the Hills of Norvos. Amon told me the other day that one of Bryar’s lovers taught her the same skill, and that she mastered it pretty fast as well.”

  Sansa nodded, looking impressed. One of Edar’s friends called his name in that moment, and the outlaw stood up and went away, leaving Sandor and Sansa alone. The little bird started chirping about everything the old steward had told her this morning regarding the games while he was away, but Sandor was having a hard time _listening_ to what she was telling him. She had, more than once, brushed her breasts against his arm, and touched his thigh, so Sandor only wasted a moment before lowering the arm he had around her shoulders discreetly down to her waist, throwing caution to the airs, noticing Sansa’s cheeks going red with arousal.

  _She looks so fucking pretty_ , he thought, his eyes raking over her neckline. He quickly silenced her as he leaned down and kissed, bit and licked her throat, thankful that no one was paying them any mind and that their alcove was hidden in the inn’s common room’s shadows, as he placed his hand on her thigh, the agonizingly low, slow moan she let out after her sharp intake of breath making him aware of the growing tightness in his breeches.

 

***

 

  A week after Hagen Edar won the archery competition, Sansa was lying down in bed, looking up at the ceiling, trying to concentrate on her musings, but Sandor was making it hard for her. It was late at night, and they were waiting in their bedroom at The Ruins for the summons to dinner. Earlier, Amon the steward had told them it was going to be served a little later than usual tonight, and in the meantime, Sansa and her big man had quickly found a way to distract themselves from the waiting.

  “Maybe Robb will grant us lands and a keep after some time when we’ve returned,” Sansa remarked, her lips slightly parted at the way Sandor was slowly making his way up her leg, trailing kisses on her skin, even as his hand slipped under skirts, between her dress and undergarments. Her breath caught in her throat as he bit her, and yet, despite what she was feeling, she couldn’t keep her mind from straying back to the vast range of possibilities that awaited them both once they returned to her family.

  “Your brother will want to have us close to him for at least a couple of years to keep an eye on me, and make sure I don’t harm his pretty sister or betray you all, little bird” Sandor rasped, sliding his hand across the side of her left leg to the inside of her thigh. He kissed her in between every word at a different place, making Sansa giggle and run her hand across his broad back whenever she could reach it.

  She sighed at his words, though, seeing the truth in them. She propped herself higher on the mattress and rested her back against the bed’s headboard. He left her legs so he could kiss her, and when she buried her face in the crook of his neck, her eyes shut tightly, she bit at his neck gently, and then moved down to his collarbone. Sandor leaned down to rest his head in between her chest and belly after releasing a long deep groan at her actions, wrapping his arms around her so tightly, that Sansa had to shift around a bit so that she could pry loose her arms and start running her hands through his hair, as it fell to hid his face from view. _I won’t think about Westeros tonight_ , she told herself again for the hundredth time in this past fortnight.

  It was not the wisest course of action, but she couldn’t very well keep on thinking about the way the world would condemn the love she and Sandor had for the other in this moment, when her big man was making her feel like this, to the point where every new breath came out ragged. Sandor had raised his head and had resumed his previous daring touches and caresses of affection on her leg, groaning, making her moan in return when he once again stroked her thighs soothingly.

  By the time dinner was at long last ready, Sansa, who was feeling quite hungry, quickly squirmed for freedom from underneath Sandor, and stood up from the bed and put her slippers on. But Sandor didn’t seem inclined to hasten.

  “Let’s go, I’m starving,” she said, smoothing the skirts of her gown, aware that Sandor’s grey eyes were hungrily devouring her.

  “Must we? I’d rather stay here with you,” he rasped, grinning up at her, still sprawled on his stomach on the bed, his leg brushing against her own.

  Sansa chuckled and stepped closer to the bed, standing still when her knees hit the edge of the mattress. “The sooner I get some food in my belly the quicker we can resume what we were doing, big man.”

  Sandor chuckled at that, the sound sour, part rumble and part a snarl. Beaming, she offered him her hand to help him up. He took it in agreement, but when she tried to pull him upwards, she couldn’t. _He is so heavy_ , she thought, marveled at his muscular body, remembering how much she loved the intimacy he made her feel when she arched her back against him when he moved above her, pinning her to the bed, drawing from her quick breathings, lust, hazy thoughts, and so many more wonderful feelings.

  He laughed again, and when she exclaimed, regaining her senses, “Sandor, I thought we had a deal,” her words of protest were interrupted by him as he quickly stood up and muffled her voice with a long deep kiss.

  They ate their dinner quickly, both wishing to return to the privacy of their bedrooms, but Hagen Edar delayed that by bringing up another of his propositions to them once the servants had brought them desert. Their host asked old Amon to please leave them then, but she didn’t pay that much attention. Sansa had talked to Amon some days ago about the way to cook lemon cakes, and she was busy finishing her first one, when Hagen suddenly asked them, “Have you decided when you will be leaving for Braavos?”

  Sansa exchanged a glance with Sandor and answered, “We went to the harbor the other day, and after making some inquiries decided that the merchant galley, _Montufar’s Dance,_ was the best option. It sails in a week and a half.”

  “A week and a half,” Edar said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “That’s time enough.”

  Sandor arched his eyebrow at him suspiciously. “Time enough for what?”

  The former outlaw shot them a wary glance, looked unsure as to how to proceed before replying with an attempt at a cheery smile, “I was wondering if you two would allow me to accompany you to Braavos.”

  Sandor stared at the man with incredulity, but Sansa smiled at Hagen. _It isn’t very shocking that he wants to join us again_ , she decided, recalling the night this man, back then a prisoner, had asked them to join them after they departed the caravan when Sansa and Sandor left behind them the Hills of Norvos.

  “Seven blasted hells, why would you want to do that?” Sandor snarled.

  “Well, I’ve been thinking for the past weeks that it’s the best course for me to take. You know about my wife. I have had nothing in this life since she died.”

  “But what about Bryar?” Sansa pointed out. “What will she think when she comes home and you’ve left again?”

  Hagen Edar actually burst out laughing at that. “Oh, sweet Jeyne, I love my sister, but never for a moment would I be fool enough to think she would mind me leaving her. You see, Bryar doesn’t really care what I do, as far as it’s not something disreputable.”

  “And you’re not planning on doing anything of that again?” Sandor asked, his tone daring their host to say the contrary. For the last couple of days, Hagen had taken to practicing his archery skills in The Ruins’ gardens, and had bought a new bow and a quiver full of arrows, and would even go as far as to wear it on the streets of Lorath.

  “Not at all!” Hagen exclaimed, carelessly. “I am still young, Byan, and have much strength. I want to see the world, and Braavos seems like a good place to start. Don’t worry, we would part ways in the City of a Hundred Isles.”

  “Hagen, I treasure your friendship,” Sansa said, “And for that very reason I have to ask if it wouldn’t be wiser for you to remain here, and help your family’s business instead. I won’t mind it one bit if you come with us, but I feel compelled to point this out to you before you regret walking down the road you intend.”

  Her friend smiled kindly at her and shook his head. “Thank you for that, Jeyne. To be honest, I _had_ considered it myself as well, but finally decided against it.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because my family’s business belongs to Bryar now. I know I’m the son and the eldest child, but my sister has been the one that has been in charge for years. I would never seek to take that position from her, since she does a better job with it than I would ever be able to do now. And I don’t want to live thanks to my sister’s efforts. Even if she gave me the chance to try and make up for my mistakes after I lost my share of our fortune thanks to Arman Nervere by working at the warehouses, she would never seriously trust my abilities. I know I wouldn’t.”

  Sansa felt very bad for Hagen, but she couldn’t bring herself to try and comfort him. She knew that he didn’t need it. _He is looking for a way out from the fate he just described to us_. She was aware that in some small way, Edar had grown fond of her and Sandor’s company. _Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to leave us so soon. We make him feel better_. There wasn’t even much risk to him finding out their true identities if he was indeed going to separate himself from them after they reached Braavos.

 Making up her mind, Sansa turned to address Sandor in the Common Tongue and said, “It didn’t turn out too bad the first time we allowed him to join us.”

  A short while ago, Sandor would not have allowed this to happen, Sansa knew. But ever since the former outlaw had proved his worth with the bow and arrow, and with daggers, she had seen how Sandor had grown to trust Hagen a little more, and was therefore now more open to accept taking Edar along with them.

  “Fuck,” Sandor cursed, letting out a resigned sigh, nodding at her. “Very well. He can join us.”

  He looked at Edar and said in High Valyrian, “But only until we reach Braavos.”

  Hagen Edar bowed his head in appreciation, and Sansa’s face broke into a wide smile before she kissed her big man in thanks.

 

***

 

_Mist covered the broken caves men had built here long ago. The ground was still wet from the water that had fallen from above earlier, his paws sinking in the soft mud as he wandered about this place. It was dark all around him, but he had sharp eyes and there was little he missed. A cold wind ruffled his fur as he heard the croak of one of those black loud birds soaring across the sky._

She is late _, a voice inside his head whispered anxiously, making him pace the ground with impatience. When he heard the sound of quick light footsteps and a different smell in the air some moments later, the wolf quickly darted among the trees and the old caves and finally settled beside a large stone, licking his fur, paying little attention to the urgent whispered voices nearby as he guarded his master’s secret._

_But after a short time the whispers became faint, making the wolf prick up his ears. The sound wasn’t getting any louder. He stood up and quickly ran towards the place where he thought he could still hear his master calling, with the starry sky looking down on him, thinking that letting them out of his sight meant he had failed in his protection. Running fast among the broken caves, he stopped abruptly when a voice called “Sansa!”_

_Turning around in all directions, he finally spotted a face hidden in shadows behind a big white tree with leaves the color of blood and a face on its trunk. Raising his head up, he let out a long howl, singing to the moon, calling his brothers and sister–his pack–back to him._

  Sansa opened her eyes suddenly, feeling goose bumps running through her limbs, a tingling rush of sensations coursing through her blood. It was early afternoon and the light of the Lorathi sun was streaming through the open window. The silence of the bedroom allowed her to hear the distant voices of people down at the beach, as well as of the sea outside The Ruins.

  She had fallen asleep while she waited for Sandor to come back from the blacksmith. He and Hagen had taken Stranger and Nan to shoe the horses’ hooves, but Sansa had preferred to get some rest, little expecting she would end up having the strangest of dreams. Sansa recalled it all with vivid clarity, and had even for a mad moment thought she could still smell the wet earth underneath her.

  _No, not underneath me. Underneath the direwolf_. For there was little doubt in her mind that it hadn’t been a regular wolf the one she’d felt but a direwolf, and particularly one belonging to her family’s pack. She brought her hand to touch her forehead lightly, sighing. _What an odd dream!_

  Looking absentmindedly at her surroundings, from the walls to the fireplace to the open window, Sansa wondered what the dream could mean. _It was as if_ I _was the wolf._ Sansa shivered. It all seemed like a story straight out of one of Old Nan’s tales. _The animal was guarding someone, and got anxious when he felt he could no longer hear his master’s voice_. She frowned, propping herself on her elbows, feeling butterflies on her tummy. _I haven’t felt this so strongly since the time when Lady was alive._ The direwolf had been one of Lady’s brothers, it had clearly been a male. _But whose?_

  There were Grey Wind, Summer, Shaggydog and Ghost. But anything could have happened to any of them in the months since she’d left Westeros. Lady had had a sister once as well, but Arya had lost Nymeria around the time when Sansa’s direwolf had been unjustly killed. Sansa had no idea which wolf she’d dreamed of being, but now that she was awake, she knew that it had not been Nymeria, and that instead of feeling sad about remembering Lady and her siblings, Sansa was feeling a sort of peace in her heart. There was a certainty inside her that assured her the people the direwolf had been guarding in her dream were safe somehow.

  And yet, she had spied the face of a boy behind the heart tree, hiding from her, from the wolf. _It must have been the boy that called my name,_ Sansa concluded, nervously rubbing her tummy. _I didn’t see another soul nearby, but I thought for a moment that I recognized the voice of that shadow_.

  Thoughts about the dream and what it could mean went round and round in her head, but in the end Sansa shook her head in resignation. _It was just a dream, it doesn’t matter, not really_ , she tried to tell herself, even as she felt acutely how much she missed her Lady. A day came back to her memory then; the day when she had first spoken to Sandor. _How curious that I first talked to Sandor on the day Lady’s fate was decided_.

  Sansa had no desire to remember everything that had taken place on that dreadful day, from her disappointment with Arya to her time with Joffrey, to that butcher’s boy who was friends with her sister, and whom Sandor had to run down, to her desire to be like Cersei Lannister, and least of all to recall the days that followed before and after Lady was killed. No, instead, she remembered only the moment when Ser Ilyn had frightened her and she had bumped into Sandor.

  His strong hands had grasped her by her shoulders, making her think for a moment that it was her father, but then she had turned around and seen Sandor up close for the first time. Sandor’s burned face had looked down at her with his mouth twisted in a terrible mockery of a smile before he rasped, “You are shaking, girl. Do I frighten you so much?”

  _He did back then, and had done so for many months afterwards, but even in those first moments I recognized that I was in truth not as frightened of Sandor as I was of Ser Ilyn_. Sansa had nonetheless wrenched away from her big man, making him laugh in amusement, and then Lady had moved between them, rumbling a warning.

  Gods, she hadn’t thought of all of this in ages. Sighing once more, Sansa rose from the bed and went in search of her brush so she could untangle her auburn hair. Once that was done she decorated it with the baby pearl comb Sandor had bought for her in the town of Munne many weeks ago, singing and waiting, recalling their time at the old castle by the Bay of Lorath.

  When Sandor finally came back, Sansa quickly walked towards the door to meet him as he stepped inside. He grinned and placed his hands on her waist after locking the door behind him, carrying her off the ground so their faces were at the same height, and he didn’t have to bend down to kiss her. Sansa returned his smile and his kiss, and hugged him tightly to her, making him groan and rasp, “Missed me, did you?”

  Sansa nodded, burying her head on his neck. “Very much.”

  When Sandor set her down on the floor again, after making her slide down against him, his hands went from her waist to her bottom, but she was very used to him fondling her there by now, and loved it when he did that.

  His grey eyes fell on her hair. He threw back his head and his laugh was half a growl.

  “You still have it then,” he remarked, his hand touching the baby pearl comb before wrapping a finger on a strand of her hair.

  “Of course I do,” she answered, smiling softly. “I told you I always would.”

  Noticing that Sandor had soot on his good cheek from the forge, she brushed it with her fingertips quickly before he took hold of her hand possessively, as she asked how the visit to the smithy had turned out.

  “The horses are now shoed and ready. The blacksmith’s apprentice was better than his master with the hammer and working metal, and in the end Hagen convinced the old man to allow his nephew to do the work for him.”

  She smiled at that, remembering the day when Edar had won the archery competition almost two weeks ago. “You don’t dislike Hagen so much anymore, do you?”

  Sandor shrugged. “Now that I know the madman isn’t completely useless, I don’t.”

  Frowning, she asked, “Is he really _so_ skilled with a bow and arrows?”

  He nodded. “Aye, the bugger knows what he’s doing, and I asked him to show me how he fights with a couple of daggers and he was good with them as well.”

  Nodding, Sansa led Sandor to the chair by the window and waited for him sit down before placing her chin on his knee, keeling on the floor beside her big man.

  “What did you do while we were away?” Sandor asked her, staring down at her, his hands once again in her loose hair, his voice breaking her train of thought.

  “I took a bath and then I slept for a little while. And–and I dreamed of my direwolf. Of Lady,” she answered truthfully.

  His grey eyes quickly met her own, surprised, as he said, “You haven’t mentioned your wolf in a long time, little bird.”

  Sansa smiled a little and took hold of the large hand Sandor had removed from her hair to place on the arm of the chair with both of her own, and lifted it to her face.

  “I also remembered the first time you talked to me,” she said in a low voice, brushing his calloused hand against her cheek, closing her eyes for a moment. “When Ser Ilyn scared me, and I bumped into you. I thought you were my father when you held my shoulders.”

  Sandor raised his eyebrow. “You did?”

  She chuckled, her thumbs caressing his hand. “Yes, for a moment.”

  Her big man shifted in his seat and said, frowning, “Little bird, after your father killed your wolf, I think I was the first person he talked to, you know.”

  Her mouth dropped open a little at that. _I didn’t know. So Lady left this world and Sandor somehow stepped into my life then_. For even if they hadn’t really been friends or anything till many months later, he had always been there during her time in King’s Landing, since the night of the Tourney of the Hand when he told her about how he was burned, and afterwards giving her advice as to how to deal with Joffrey and the vipers at court. _Sandor hates liars, and yet he told me to lie because he knew that was the only way I would ever live through that nightmare_.

  “I survived because of you back in King’s Landing,” she pointed out quietly.

  But Sandor shook his head and snarled in a harsh voice, “ _No_ , Sansa. You’re strong, you’re a wolf and have claws and teeth. You were smart enough to listen to what I told you, but there is so much more to you than what I advised you to do or be.”

  She didn’t really know what to say to that, so instead she brought her mouth to Sandor’s hand and started kissing it gently. After some moments, she heard Sandor rasp, “Little bird,” but she only closed her eyes and whispered against his skin, “Hush.”

  Looking up at his face after a moment, Sansa saw Sandor as she had long ago, taking in the ruin the fire had made of his face, memories of the night when he told her about the Mountain and the wooden knight echoing on her mind. Sansa felt so strongly for Sandor right then, that before she knew what she was doing, she had stood up and placed herself before him, between his legs, staring at his narrowed eyes, drowning in their grey waters.

  Silently, she brought her hands to cup both sides of Sandor’s face and without a moment’s hesitation, knowing that she was the only one he would ever expose himself to like this, Sansa bent down and started kissing Sandor’s burns and scars gently, pressing her lips to them, from the hole that remained of his ear to the rough leathery skin at his temple that was always covered by his thin dark hair, brushing it away so that she could reach every part of his scars. It didn’t matter that he could not feel what she was doing; only that he knew she would do it, lovingly and willingly, while he let her know and feel the deeply buried affection he’d once hidden under a gruff demeanor.

  Breathing in his scent, musky and male, earth and wine, sweat and horses, it dawned on Sansa just how much they both had changed by being together. They were in a way two completely different people to the ones they’d been on the day Lady was doomed to die, but she knew that this change was very good for them both. They made each other better, and inspired all the good things in someone to come out when the other one was around.

  Sandor meanwhile was growling deeply as he put his arms around her, grabbing her hips and bringing her closer to him, drawing a little moan from her. _How can it be possible to love him so much? I can’t live without him_. The very thought made it hard for her to breathe. _This is how it feels like to be in love with someone who gives you strength and courage_. And to have the certainty that she made Sandor feel the same was priceless and precious.

  Some moments later, Sansa straightened up and once again met Sandor’s eyes. Seeing in their grey depths so much emotion, as his mouth began to twitch, Sansa, feeling as overwhelmed as he looked, brought his face forward so that he could bury it in her breasts, aware that this was a comforting gesture. Sandor hugged her tightly to him and she let him rest on her chest, one hand drawing soothing circles on his back, while the fingers of the other ran through Sandor’s hair. 

  “Sandor?” she said at one point.

  “Hmm?” he answered, not raising his head from her chest.

  “Why did you tell me about your scars?” she asked him, curious.

  Sandor didn’t look up at her, and nor did he answer her for a moment. But looking down at him, Sansa saw him shrug at last and heard him say, “I was bloody drunk, Sansa. I wanted to show you how wrong you were in thinking knights were any good, and one thing led to another, and before I knew it I had told a strange pretty little bird about Gregor.”

  Sansa bent down at that and kissed the top of her big man’s head, her hands at the nape of his neck. “Sandor, look at me. I’m glad you told me,” she admitted slowly.

  Sandor looked up at her at last, and rasped hoarsely, “I fucking love you, Sansa.”

  She smiled at that and replied calmly and truthfully, “And I you, Sandor. Now and forever, remember?”

  He nodded, drawing her down to him so that he could kiss her, as he answered, “Aye, now and forever, love.”

  _Now and forever, till the end of our days_ , Sansa thought happily, as Sandor’s scarred lips kissed her again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, as always, thank you very much for reading! Will keep my fingers crossed you liked the chapter. Comments are love 


	34. Byan & Jeyne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> *The best betas anyone could ever ask for: onborrowedwings & nysandra!! I take my hat off to you both again for your help :D   
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.
> 
> *I’m posting this a day early because I won’t have time to do so tomorrow, but next weekend the chapter will be updates as usual on Sunday night :D I hope you all had a wonderful Valentine’s Day and are enjoying the weekend!

  Sansa was brushing her hair until it shone in front of the mirror, humming a tune absentmindedly, almost ready.

  “How much longer, bird?” Sandor asked her, breaking the silence that had settled between them. He pulled on his left boot, sitting on a chair.

  “Just a little more,” she answered, wondering if she should braid two strands of hair together, and join them at the back of her head today, as she looked at her reflection on the mirror from different angles, her tongue peaking from between her teeth in concentration.

  Sandor shook his head at that, resigned and disbelieving. “I’m going to pay a visit to Stranger and Nan at the stable. Meet me there when you’re ready. Just don’t take _too_ long again.”

  Sansa laughed and turned around to look at Sandor, her eyebrows raised, amused. His eyes roamed over her body slowly, from head to foot, a proud grin upon his burned features. She returned his smile, feeling utterly happy, having woken up this morning in good spirits. Sandor closed the door behind him after he’d taken his swordbelt from the peg on the wall, fastening it around his waist as he left the bedroom.

  Still smiling, her dimples appearing on both of her cheeks, Sansa thought about how he pretended to be annoyed at her for taking too long in getting ready, yet every time she was doing it, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. And for some reason, she liked to dress up under his gaze. Sighing, she smoothed the skirts of her new gown, aware of how beautiful she looked even as she heard the shouts of ragged children playing games outside The Ruins on the street.

  She had only bought two new dresses in Lorath. The one in the Stark house colors she was intending to wear on the day she met her family again, and this one. The grey and white one was of the finest silk she could find at the market, while this one was of lambswool, dark brown and simply cut, with leaves and vines embroidered around the bodice, sleeves, and hem in golden thread.

  It was modest but becoming, and that didn’t matter to her as much as it once would’ve done. Sansa was accustomed to a simple life by now, and was content with what she had. _Not many could make this gown look so pretty on them as me_ , she thought joyously, glad with her looks. _Most importantly, this dress is warm_. Lorath was only a little less cold than what Sansa remembered summer snows to be like in Winterfell, but by now she was certain the North was going to be under winter’s grip, and the good thing about today being a grey day was that it made her and Sandor used to this weather, she supposed.

  And in any case, this was the only gown she had available to wear at present. Sandor, Sansa and Hagen would be leaving Lorath for Braavos tomorrow, and it had dawned on Sansa that this was likely going to be her only chance for this for some time, and so had asked some maids that worked at The Ruins to wash her and Sandor’s clothes, from their nightgowns to their smallclothes, to her other simple cut dresses to Sandor’s tunics and breeches.

  All of a sudden, music started streaming through the open window, making Sansa feel like dancing. Instead she giggled and began to sing as she sat on the bed, and tried on the few remaining necklaces she still owned, her mind drifting to the promising day before her. Since this would be their last day in Lorath, Sandor and she had decided to visit their favorite places in this city one last time. Sansa knew that she couldn’t expect her family and the world to accept her love for Sandor as readily as she would like, and couldn’t keep on delaying these thoughts any longer with their return to Westeros so close at hand.

  _That’s why I want to enjoy myself today more than ever_ , she gathered. _It’s one of our last chances to be openly carefree in a long while_. _It’s probable we may never again set foot on this island, so we must make this day count_.

  She giggled in alarm as she realized that she was indeed taking a bit too long in getting ready. Hastily, she returned her attention to her jewelry and chose a simple velvet ribbon in autumn gold, and quickly hid her jewels, before dashing from the bedroom, across the covered passage outside, and down the short flight of stairs to the garden below.

  Walking briskly across it, Sansa at last arrived at the stables, to find Sandor tying a sack of oats on their horses’ stalls.

  “Ready,” she exclaimed, smiling broadly at the sight of her love as if she hadn’t seen him for days. “How do I look?” she said, turning in a circle before him.

  Sandor looked like he was tempted to roll his eyes at her words, but when he saw her, he smirked and chuckled sourly.

  “Like you always do,” he answered, shrugging. “Like a bloody perfect little bird.”

  Her eyes fell on Nan, who neighed when he saw her. She stepped towards her horse and brushed her hand from her forehead to her warm muzzle.

  “She is carrying Stranger’s foal, isn’t she?” she asked Sandor, eyeing Nan’s belly uncertainly.

  “I think she is,” Sandor replied, looking at the chestnut mare as well. “I told you mares carry their foals for eleven months, and she won’t show it until the eighth. I reckon it’s been about four months since we took the horses to that field to fuck, so if you keep on riding her for a while longer, no harm will come to the foal.”

  “And it is still safe for her to take the long journey home aboard a ship, isn’t it?” she wondered, concerned. “We’ve been taking proper care of her, she is in good health.”

  “We will probably be in Westeros in two months, so she’ll be fine. After that, she shouldn’t do anything to agitate her.”

  Sansa offered her big man her hand, and he took it at once, nodding.

  “That’s good news,” she said.

  They left The Ruins and began to stroll and stride down the streets of this Free City, Sansa began to treasure every little moment of today, imagining the day she and Sandor would be able to do this back in the North; a day when the Northmen and her kin would behave the way the Lorathi all around them were doing, as they paid them no mind, or any particular interest, while they strode across a courtyard from the Great Keep, hand in hand.  

  Their footsteps led them to their favorite market first, as they talked of everything and nothing. The market had been built between two enormous warehouses, and had a roof of sorts due to the covered tents the local sellers and merchants put above their stalls. Sansa’s eyes looked around opened wide, and Sandor glanced around them, paying no particular interest to the items on display.

  “I like coming with you to markets,” she jested, as they passed a stand where a fat bellied man was trying to lure any passerby to take a look at the snake coiled around his upper body, yelling that the animal would disentangle itself from him if someone bought a silver flute and played it next to the viper.

  “Why?” Sandor asked, glancing down at her.

  She grinned. “Because no one ever thinks of cheating me with the prices when I have such a powerful protector standing guard beside me.”

  He snorted and ruffled the hair she’d so carefully arranged earlier. They didn’t buy anything in the market since they couldn’t afford to waste their coin on anything that was not absolutely necessary these days, but it was still quite fun nonetheless. After they had looked around for a little, they stepped into an alley where there was a pink little house, that Sansa had found endearing since she’d first laid eyes on it.

  “You want to go to the bridges now? It’s close by,” Sandor suggested at one point.

  “Oh, yes!” Sansa replied, nodding enthusiastically. “That sounds lovely.”

  Her big man winked at her. “Thought you would like it.”

  _That’s because we know each other too well by now_ , Sansa mused, gazing with curiosity at a tower with a bell before them.

  “Sandor,” she asked, in a low voice, mindful of unwanted ears being ready to eavesdrop at any place. “Do you remember _The Three Bells_ inn?”

  Sandor followed her gaze, his eyes falling on the bell high above them.

  “Aye, I do. And I remember those fucking bells that sounded four times a day, waking me up at dawn every morning.”

  She burst out laughing at the memories. “Gods be good, I had forgotten about that!”

  “How could you?” he snarled, surprised. “That’s one of the things I remember most about Norvos.”

  Waiting for her laughter to subside, Sansa answered, “At the start it was a nice place, wasn’t it?”

  Sandor nodded in agreement. Yet Sansa knew, by the frown that had appeared on his forehead, that her big man was remembering their acquaintance with Arman Nervere rather than the rides down the river Noyne, or the beautiful manner in which they had celebrated their namedays.

  “And I miss Frema and Vintos so much,” she commented, trying to make Sandor stop brooding about the man who had almost come between them. “Do you think they managed to reach their village safely?”

  Sandor’s rough calloused hand took her own in his. “Of course they did. Vintos may have been an incompetent twat, but I bet he and Frema are now happily wasting away their lives in the Hills of Norvos, already expecting a child.”

  Sansa smiled at that. _They said they would call one of their children after me or Sandor._ But her friends had known them as Alysanne and Edric, so that was the way their child would be named.

  “It would have been nice to be able to accompany them to that place, wouldn’t it?”

  Sandor smiled knowingly at her, his mouth twitching. “For a time it would’ve. But, little bird, in the end we both would have gone mad stuck in that place. We’ve grown used to not settling anywhere, wandering from one Free City to the other. Fuck, it may even be hard at the start to get used to living in Winterfell.”

  Something in the deep rasp of his voice gave Sansa pause. _He is going back to the Seven Kingdoms not because he wishes it as strongly as I do; it’s because he knows that it will make me very happy_.

  “If we could, and just for the sake of imagining it, where would you have had us go to next if we couldn’t return to Westeros yet, big man?”

  His voice sounded like two wood saws grinding together as he answered, “We still haven’t been to Myr, Lys, Tyrosh or Volantis. Bugger, anywhere in the world where you were safe, little bird.”

  Sansa could hear the longing behind Sandor’s words, realizing that he had his own castles in the air, too. She tucked her arm around his and rested her head on his shoulder as they both finally caught sight of the bridges.

  “We can still go there one day, darling,” she sighed, turning her neck around a little so she could bury her face against his arm, her eyes closed. “I know that there is a certain sense of ending now because we are leaving the lives we’ve been living for so long here, but just think about it. We have our whole life ahead of us. Years and years in which we can settle for some time in the North and start a family. See our children grow up, and maybe if the day ever comes when we decide to return to Essos, we will do so with our children in tow.”

  Sandor threw back his head and laughed at that, but not unkindly.

  “Seven hells,” he roared, blinking, running his hand through his hair, looking at her with disbelief, even as his eyes told her how much he wanted her words to become true in the years to come. “Sansa, can I ask you something?”

  She nodded, looking ahead of her. Sandor waited till they had reached the bridges before he spoke. There were three bridges, two covered and one uncovered, all connected at the point where they met above one of the many frozen canals in Lorath these days. They were known as the Bridge of Sighs, the Bridge of Tears and the Bridge of Laughter, and were quite famous on this island.

  At this early in the morning none of the bridges were crowded. Sandor and Sansa stopped right in the middle of the Bridge of Laughter, with the wide streets of the city to their sides, and the harbor at a distance, the white sails of different ships visible in contrast against the sky.

  Once they had both made certain no one was near them, Sandor held his arms open for her, and hugged her as she stepped into them. Her big man said without preamble, “Sansa, do you think I’m going to be a good father?”

  _Oh, my dearest_ , Sansa thought, as he rested his chin the top of her head.

  “You’ll be good,” she assured him, talking into his chest. “You wait and see, Sandor. I know that you will be better than you imagine.”

  Sandor ran his hand through her hair softly, while she pressed her face against his muscled hard chest, hearing the strong beating of his heart.

  “Little bird, look at me,” Sandor rasped after a moment, grabbing her chin before tilting it up so that their gazes could meet. “You _really_ think so?” he insisted, emotion shifting in his grey eyes, fog misting around his face when he spoke due to the cold air.

  Sansa was moved beyond words for some reason. _How can I not love him?_ To think that the ferocious Hound was concerned about whether or not he would be a good father was touching, but to be practically _feeling_ the way _Sandor_ was troubled by this question as she stared deep into his eyes was too precious a realization. It spoke of the committed manner in which her big man would behave in the future, caring more than anything in this world about the family they would have together.

  So, at a loss for words, Sansa nodded, and cupped Sandor’s unscarred cheek with her hand, her mouth opened a little. She stood on tip toes as he leaned down to kiss her, whispering against his mouth, “I don’t think so. I _know_ it, my love.” 

  After the bridges, they went to visit the biggest garden in Lorath, and spent away the rest of the morning sitting under the shadow of a tree beside a murky pond until they both grew hungry, some hours after midday.

  Settling in two chairs beside a round table at their favorite shop in this city, Sandor and Sansa ordered honeyed chicken, fresh baked bread, cod cakes, and blackberry preserves. Sandor ordered wine as he was wont to do, but she preferred a cup of hot tea to warm her up on this chilly day, noticing the way Sandor stared at her with a wolfish grin as she rubbed her hands together for warmth in between every sip of her tea.

 

***

 

  Sandor was enjoying his last day here in Lorath with his pretty little bird. Nothing bad had happened at the market, or at the garden. And when they had visited the bridges, Sansa, young as she was, had managed to calm at least some of his doubts about whether or not he was going to be a decent father. _I will try my best to be so_ , he vowed to himself, more in love with Sansa than ever as he watched her trembling slightly with cold, her teeth chattering in between small bites of the honeyed chicken. She was certainly going to be a great mother, but Sandor didn’t want his children to suffer the same way he had, only being able to confide in their mother since their father was practically a useless stranger to them. Sandor wanted to be _there_ for them and the little bird, always.

  He knew that it was foolish to think about how he would turn out to be as a father when he and Sansa were still not even sleeping together, but Sandor guessed that his choice to think with naivety at present could be excused. _At least in this matter_. After all, wasn’t this the first bloody time for them both falling in love with someone? They were discovering all of this for the first time and together, and at times Sandor found himself wondering if it was like this for everyone. _Does everyone think that whatever the other person does is always a fucking wonder?_ Sandor could at least be happy with the knowledge that no matter what, he couldn’t see him and the little bird ever falling apart, with things changing for the worse between them.

  Even the other afternoon, when he had returned home from the blacksmith where he’d taken Stranger and Nan, and the little bird had talked about dreaming of her wolf and all, before she started willingly kissing his burns, Sandor knew he had made the right choice as he buried his head on her breasts. In his arms he’d held the most wonderful woman in this world, the only one who would ever have loved him for his self, black lucky bastard though he was. As Sansa kissed him gently on his face, it had almost seemed to Sandor as if she was killing him softly. He would have gladly prolonged that for a thousand years.

  _Bugger_ , he realized, grinning wider as they sat in the shop by one of the frozen canals. _It will always be like this for us in a way_. _I will always be here sitting across the table from the little bird, staring like an idiot at the way she smiles, or the way she innocently asks a thousand questions about something unknown to her, or at the way her firm arse sways with the alluring movements of her hips, and so many other little things that serve to make my life worthy_. Sandor had always liked being alone, and hadn’t cared before if he was meant to spend the rest of his life like that, but now that the little bird had come along, it was good to be with her.

  “Would you like to go to the beach?” Sansa asked him, once they had finished their food.

  “The beach?” Sandor repeated, brought back to the present, as he noticed that Sansa had little crumbs all over her perfect full red lips.

  “Yes,” she replied. “We won’t get a chance to rest at one in our next destination, or the one after that.”

  “True,” he replied absentmindedly, already leaning over to the little bird so that he could kiss the crumbs from her face, his tongue brushing against her lips as she saw what he wanted and moved closer to him in her seat. _She tastes like honey_. Her face was flushed when they drew apart, but she batted her eyelashes at him, making him kiss her nose quickly.

  They were in the middle of other occupied tables at this bloody shop that had fools who had cast uneasy glances at the scarred man beside them, but they no longer mattered anymore to Sandor. When Sansa kissed his cheek in return, he couldn’t stop himself from stroking her soft cold pink cheek with his rough thumb.

  The little bird quickly grabbed his bottle of wine and poured some into his cup, before taking a drink from it herself. That was another small detail Sandor liked, when in another lifetime it may have irritated him a bit. He enjoyed eating the same food and drinking from the same cup as his bird.

  “You look like a Clegane,” he remarked in a low awed tone, turning around carelessly to see make sure it was safe to utter that name here out loud. It was hard to believe at times that someone as highborn and beautiful as Sansa would willingly wish to marry someone like him. And it made him feel proud to see her happy wearing his house colors. _No,_ our _house colors now, in almost every sense_.

  She blinked at him, the contents of the cup swaying when she rested her hand on her knee.

  “I do?” she asked, at a loss. “You have me there. How so?”

  Sandor nodded. “Brown, and leaves, vines and a ribbon in autumn gold. It somehow looks like our banner. It reminds me of Clegane Keep.”

  Sansa stared down at her gown, surprised. When she looked up at him again, she was smiling.

  “I would like to visit your home one day, love,” she said, calmly.

  Sandor rasped a laugh at that. “It isn’t mine, little bird. You know bloody well who is its master, and as long as that is so, you will never set foot in those lands.”

  “Not even if one day the keep and its lands were to pass on to you? Your brother has no heirs,” Sansa pointed out.

  “I don’t care shit about the keep and its lands,” Sandor expressed with disdain, thinking how sweet it would be to kill his brother and be able to clean his grandfather’s lands of the scum Gregor was.

  He fell into a sullen momentary silence due to his dark thoughts, but Sansa knew how to handle him by now, he supposed, for all of a sudden she purred in a cheery voice, as she leaned closer to him, “I like how it sounds,” she rested her forehead against Sandor’s as he relented. “Lady Sansa Clegane of House Stark.”

  Sandor kissed her quickly and pointed out, “Lady, is it?”

  “Of course,” she replied, taking a blackberry preserve and nibbling at it. “My brother will probably make you a lord so you are high enough for our union to be accepted by everyone.”

  “Seven hells,” he muttered, sighing. He had no bloody desire to be a sodding lord. He had never thought it would happen, not even when he had been the king’s favorite man. So much was expected of a lord, but if it allowed him to share his life with Sansa, then he would be the lord of any holdfast Robb Stark granted him in the future.

  When they went down to the strand of beach near The Ruins in the early afternoon, they found it as crowded as ever. They walked across the beach for a time, and met Hagen there, with his quiver and bow strapped on his back.

  Sandor still thought Edar was a fucking madman, but the fact that he was very good at archery and with daggers had earned him a saner perspective in Sandor’s opinion, and he had found himself being able to put up with their hosts’ extravagances with less ill grace. _And now he is going to join us on the trip to Braavos_. Fuck, at least he would have someone to talk to when the little bird was unable to leave their cabin due to seasickness.

  “What are you doing here?” Sansa had asked the archer with a smile.

  “I’m going to go shoot some seagulls for practice for a while before heading back home. Want to join me?”

  Sandor had snorted. “Not bloody likely.”

  Hagen laughed at that. “Oh, you two want to be alone. Well, don’t let me stop you. Go on then, meet you later tonight at dinner. There will be baked venison, emperor crab, pork pie, mashed yellow turnips, and honeycombs for desert in honor of our departure.”

  Sansa looked up at the grey sky, uncertainly. “That sounds tasty, Hagen. I will be looking forward to that. By the way, could I ask you to tell the servants something in case you return to The Ruins before we do?”

  Edar shrugged. “Sure, what is it?”

  “It looks like it’s going to rain. Tell them to have a fire lit up in our rooms to warm the bedroom, so that it isn’t freezing once we go back, if you would.”

  “I’ll tell them.”

  After the outlaw left them to go shoot seagulls, Sandor sat down cross-legged on the beach, at a place where he and Sansa both could look at the window of their bedroom back at The Ruins if they turned around to gaze to the southwest. The little bird didn’t seat down beside him, though. She stood before him, frowning.

  “What is it?”

  “Sandor, I can’t sit here or the sand will get on the fabric of my dress,” she explained, wide beautiful blue eyes looking down at him.

  Sandor laughed and ordered, “Come on, bird.”

  And before Sansa could do more than blink, he had pulled her onto his lap, laughing harder at her small yelp of surprise.

  He encircled her long neck with one hand, while the other one went around her, grasping her waist with a firm grip.

  “Better like this?” he whispered in her ear, making her shiver lightly when she felt his hot rasping breath against her neck.

  “Yes,” Sansa whispered back, gulping, and closed her eyes. Sandor kissed her, forgetting his surroundings again, thinking he could practically imagine hearing the little bird’s fluttering heart.

  “I’m going to miss Lorath,” he admitted, closing his eyes in return. Their stay in this Free City had turned out to be better than he would have dared imagine.

  “Me too,” his little bird chirped, in a tone she had begun to use only at nightfall, when they were alone in the bedroom under the heavy warm furs.

  _Maybe that is one of the reasons why I fucking loved Lorath_ , he gathered, smiling into Sansa’s soft hair. In this island, Sandor and Sansa had finally started to go beyond the boundaries of what people would have called proper and decent, playing their little games, and it had all turned out _too_ bloody good–better than he had ever imagined in his dreams.

  “Promise me nothing will ever come between us, love,” Sandor heard himself saying out loud, as he imagined he and Sansa returning to Lorath one day in the years to come, even as he was aware that the burns and scars on his face and throat made one side of his mouth twitch when he spoke. Not that it had ever bothered him much. _Nor does it bother the little bird anymore._

  Sansa met his eyes and smiled. “Nothing ever will, big man. I promise.”

 

***

 

  “I think it best for us to return home,” Sansa said reluctantly, as she gazed out across the waters of the Shivering Sea.

  She and Sandor had been sitting on the beach, looking before them at the sea and the Lorathi that paid them curious glances as they passed them by, comparing the size of their hands at one point, or remarking what they were going to miss most about this island. Sansa smiled as her fingers played with Sandor’s. The big man really did have large hands, almost as big as shovels.

  “Aye, it’s going to start raining any moment now,” Sandor rasped behind her as he pressed her closer to him, his actions betraying his words.

  She was still sitting on his lap, since he had assured her that she didn’t weight too much. This last day in Lorath had been everything Sansa could have hoped for, but this time at the beach had been slightly dampened by the fact that they were watching the sky darken above them, turning grey as heavy clouds full of rain made their appearance in the landscape, knowing they wouldn’t be able to stay here for as long as they would have wished.

  With a resigned groan, Sandor put his large hands on her hips and pushed her to her feet. When Sansa looked behind her, quickly shaking sand from her skirts, she saw that Sandor was already standing up.

  “Let’s go,” he rasped, as she put on her slippers, the distant clouds glowing for half a heartbeat.

  All the Lorathi around them were thinking along the same lines as they were, quickly striding away from the beach to their houses or the shelter of some roof. Sandor slipped his hand in hers and started to run fast in the direction of the street that would lead them to The Ruins. They hadn’t even left the beach behind them when the sky suddenly broke, and heavy rain started descending from above, and a silent bright flash of lighting lit up the dark grey sky, blinding bright.

  “Fuck,” Sandor exclaimed, covering his face with his free hand. “Come on, bird!”

  In a matter of moments, Sansa and Sandor were completely drenched, no matter how quickly they hurried. Her beautiful gown was wet, clinging to her body, the water slipping all the way to her smallclothes. Sansa burst out laughing.

  “What?” Sandor rasped, looking at her in surprise, turning around a corner at the end of the street.

  Sansa couldn’t stop giggling. She found out that against all odds she was enjoying running around Lorath while the rain threatened to quickly become a thunderstorm.

  Her big man took one look at her and grinned, throwing his head back and joining her in her laughter. He stopped covering his face and hugged her swiftly, both of them soaked through, the wind blowing the rain wildly all about them.

  “Hurry,” he chuckled, when she failed to match his long fast strides. “Or I will carry you in my arms.”

  “That’s tempting, but you may trip and slip and end up breaking both of our necks,” she teased, almost slipping to the ground herself as she hit a deep puddle.

 Sandor steadied her with his arms, snorting, the rain blowing in his face. By the time they reached the Edars’ home, the streets were almost deserted, the heavy rain making it hard for them to see ahead.

  _Thank_ _gods I asked Hagen to have a fire lit in the bedroom_ , Sansa realized, as she and Sandor stepped into the garden that surrounded The Ruins. There wasn’t a single soul to be seen here either. Clearly, everyone had been wise enough to look for shelter before they had. Once they had reached the stairs that led to the passageway to their bedroom, Sansa was already sneezing, shivering due to the cold rain, even as she kept on laughing at the sight of her and her big man. No matter what, he had never let go of her hand.

  He grinned wickedly at her as he pushed her body against the doorframe, pressing her between his large powerful body and the quarry rock behind her. They kissed, little passionate hasty kisses, as Sandor fumbled with the doorknob beside them. When he finally opened the door to the room, Sansa just behind him, she rested against the wall, catching her breath, grateful for the warmth that came from the big fire on the hearth. At least we reach shelter before hard hailstones started to fall, she thought dazedly.

  “Oh, no!” she exclaimed moments later, remembering. “Sandor, all of my garments are being washed!”

  Sandor locked the door behind him, striding over to his saddlebag. “Well, we have to change, or you’ll catch a cold. I saw a couple of old tunics around here in the morning that escaped the hands of the washerwomen.”

  Sansa saw the sense of his words and nodded in agreement. Shaking, she made her way to the mirror on the wall, taking in the sight of how white her skin looked. _I look as pale as a ghost_. She wanted to curl herself into the furs on the bed by the fire, but she had to change out of this wet gown first. She was momentarily distracted when she caught sight of Sandor taking off his shirt behind her through his reflection in the mirror, revealing his muscled chest to her, but he, oblivious, quickly donned a clean tunic, shaking his wet head, drenching water across the bedroom.

  Sansa’s arms moved to her back, attempting to unlace the strings of her gown so she could start undressing herself. She saw through the mirror Sandor turning around to face her, a large shirt in his hand. He looked as if he was about to say something, but when he noticed what she was trying to do, he gulped, uncertain. Sansa moved her wet hair away from her back to her side, and met Sandor’s grey stare. _He is thinking the same thing I am_.

  “You can have this one,” he growled hoarsely, even as she said in an innocent tone, “Please, won’t you help me? I can’t reach the laces.”

  Her big man gave a curt nod and was behind her in four long strides. Sandor placed the tunic on the chair beside her and, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror as they looked at each other through the glass, he quickly started to try and unlace her.

  Sansa was trembling slightly, but due to the cold or the way Sandor was making her feel in this moment she would never really know. Sandor towered behind her, his head bent low as he started unlacing her gown, droplets from his hair falling on her with every one of his movement.

  She gathered Sandor didn’t have much experience unlacing women’s dresses due to the way his hands were shaking behind her, but this one had a simple cut, unlike the ones she had once been accustomed to wear. Some short moments later, Sandor finally unlaced her gown. His eyes stared at her back, making Sansa release a deep breath.

  Instead of stepping outside the room to the covered corridor so she could change in privacy, Sandor didn’t move. Rather than drawing away, he stepped even closer to her, bending down until his burned face was a mere space away from her. Sansa was following Sandor’s every move intently through the mirror as she _felt_ him behind her, silently daring him to continue undressing her, after she didn’t move away from his close proximity.

  A moment later, Sandor brought his scarred lips to kiss the nape of her neck, making her smile as his scratchy beard tickled her. She could no longer feel the cold. Sandor embraced her, putting his arms around her, pressing her against him, drawing a gasp from her. She threw back her head so she could expose more of her neck to the man she loved, closing her eyes tight shut, gasping loud and clear. He buried his head in the crook of her wet shoulder, his mouth kissing her skin insistently, and her legs went weak and he drove her to find support against the solid wall, her palms touching the quarry stone, wishing she curl her fingers into it.

  It almost felt as if Sandor lifted her from the floor for a moment, but it didn’t really matter. In the blink of an eye, he had brought his hand to caress her chest under the fabric of her gown and the upper piece of her small clothes, before sliding his hand downwards to cup her breast. Sansa shivered in pleasure.

  The first time Sandor had done this, she had been a little bewildered, not knowing what to expect, but she had quickly come to adore the feeling of his rough hand, fingers, and eager wet mouth on her breasts. Over the past few weeks in Lorath, during the cold northern nights, when all the lights were put out in this part of the world, Sansa and Sandor’s explorations of the other had become more and more daring.

  It had started out one night, when the closeness of Sandor’s body made her long for _something_ she could not name. They were sharing the same bed, and the man she loved had been sleeping with her in his arms, unaware of the turmoil that was clashing in her mind, scaring sleep away.

  Sansa had turned tense and rigid in his embrace without realizing it, not daring to move, afraid of waking Sandor up even as she longed to shake him by the shoulders and let him know what was happening to her. In the end, she hadn’t been able to hold on much longer and had kissed Sandor awake the way he liked her to do in the mornings. The rest of the night had been the most exciting hours Sansa Stark had ever known. She remembered thinking in awe, the next morning, that she had not imagined there were so many ways for people who loved each other to pleasure the other.

  But she’d learned a bit more in this regard by now. So much more so that Sandor’s caresses didn’t surprise her, for she had been expecting this playful act. His other hand roamed near her lady parts, making her tremble and press her legs together as he started drawing soothing circles on her thigh. Feeling Sandor’s desire for her hard against her back some moments later, her hand reached out daringly to touch it out of instinct, palming the large bulge underneath the breeches for a moment, marveling once more at the way it _moved_ at the contact of her hand, as she recalled with a grin the first time she had done this, and Sandor’s reaction.

  Sandor bit her hard at that on her neck, grunting low in his throat, as her breasts heaved in rhythm to the strong beat of her heart. He quickly turned her around to face him, breathing raggedly, his eyes burning with a strong desire for her. Sansa looked up at her big man’s face, staring at the twisted mass of scars around Sandor’s eye; at the slick black flesh that was hard as leather, and which was pocked with craters and fissured by deep cracks that were gleaming red, still wet from the rain outside. Sansa brought her hand to cup his jaw delicately, at the place where one could see a hint of bone where the flesh had been seared away, full of love for him, and he pressed his mouth down on her own.

  In the end, as they waited for the thunderstorm to pass, Sandor had moved the table in front of the crackling fireplace, and had settled on the floor beside it, gazing at her as she lit up candles all around them, and then placed their wet clothes on the table so that they could start drying off and be ready to be packed away tomorrow.

  “You look too fucking beautiful in my shirt, Sansa,” he stared at her bare legs, his voice rough.

  Sansa laughed. She was wearing her big man’s long sleeved loose tunic that fell all the way to her knees, and since he had first seen her with it, Sandor’s grey eyes had done nothing but stare at her hungrily, making her wonder if he had ever dreamed of her in these clothes.

  “So you would prefer it if I only wore your tunics and your breeches now?” she asked him, shooting him a mischievous glance. She removed some fur blankets from the bed and gave them to Sandor, her bare feet lightly touching the cold floor of the room.

  Her big man grinned. “I would prefer you without them, little bird.”

  Sansa chuckled, and leaned down to kiss him quickly, saying, “That’s a shame, for I just discovered I love wearing your tunic. It smells of you. I think I’m going to start wearing them for sleeping.”

  Sandor blinked, incredulous, and then laughed. He caught her hand and drew her gently to him. She sat beside him on the floor before the fire, as he put the furs around them, so they could warm each other up.

  “And what am I expected to wear at nights?” he snarled, as she started to kiss her neck, his arms going around her.

  “Nothing,” she replied, hearing the fierce storm still raging outside.

  “I’ll freeze to death in the North wearing nothing, Sansa,” he pointed out, chuckling, brushing her almost dry hair out of her face.

  “Oh, all right,” she said, relenting with a laugh, as her hands slipped underneath his shirt. “I’ll give you a new surcoat in dark grey wool with silver buttons. And a silver pin to fasten your fur-trimmed cloak at the shoulders, too. And you’ll wear boots and gloves lined with fur as well.”

  She said all of this as he ran her hands across Sandor’s skin, while he nibbled at her ear, and before she knew it they were lying on the floor, huddling beneath the furs, hugging each other once again, or talking at times, as they heard the storm outside finally disappearing a couple of hours later.

  By the time a servant came to send them word dinner was ready, Sansa quickly asked the man to have one of her dresses sent, so that she could change into something proper for dinner. Sandor waited for her to quickly don the gown they’d brought her, and offered her his arm as they made their way through the damped garden, careful that she didn’t suddenly slip once again.

  “I’m hungry,” he said, when the caught the smell of their dinner.

  “Me too,” Sansa admitted, rubbing her tummy as it started making funny noises.

  “Tell you what,” her big man said as they stepped into the hall of The Ruins where they always had their meals. “Let’s eat quickly so we can return to what we were doing.”

  Sansa blushed and hissed, “Hush, someone could hear you.”

  “There isn’t a bloody person nearby, little bird.”

 “I’m afraid you would be wrong in that, Byan,” a woman’s voice suddenly responded, making Sansa gasp, startled, and Sandor tense beside her.

  They both looked ahead, and noticed the person in the vast cavernous hall they hadn’t seen sooner because they had been so intent on the other.

  “My lady Bryar,” Sansa greeted formally, surprised. “You’re home.”

  Bryar Edar had finally returned home from her trip to Ibben. She was sitting at the head of the long table in the middle of the room, looking at Sansa and Sandor with a smile that did not reach her eyes. There was a plate with some bread and a bit of cheese before her, as well as gravy.

  “So I am since midday,” she nodded. “Oh, but don’t let me stop you both. I’ll have the food brought here at once, so that you two can eat quickly and return to whatever it was that you were doing.”

  She said those words in an amused tone that left Sansa in no doubt this woman _knew_ what she and Sandor had been talking about. She blushed and looked at her feet, unsure about what to say next.

  “We are leaving tomorrow,” Sandor commented, walking over to take a seat at the table, Sansa quickly following.

  Bryar sighed in a tired manner, nodding. “I know. I met Amon at the harbor and he told me you are sailing on the _Montufar’s Dance_ , am I right?”

  “Aye,” her big man replied, pouring some wine in Sansa’s cup first and then in his. He looked questioningly at Bryar’s cup.

  “Please, me too,” the Edar woman said, smiling as she offered her cup to Sandor to be refilled.

  They fell silent for a moment, none of them knowing what to say next. Sansa took this time to peek at Hagen’s sister, noticing that she looked exactly the same as on the first time they’d met.

  Bryar met her stare once, before returning her shrewd smile and attention to Sandor, making Sansa shift uncomfortably on her seat, sensing that this woman didn’t have the least of troubles with staring at Sandor straight in the face. She frowned, wondering if she wasn’t imagining things.

  Sandor didn’t seem to notice Bryar’s stare, though, for he was spending his time drinking from his cup or staring at Sansa, as he rested his hand on her thigh under the table like he always did at meal time.

  When the silence had gone on for so long that it was starting to become rude, Bryar asked, “So you enjoyed living in The Ruins?”

  Shrugging, Sandor answered, “It was all right. You have a good place for a home here.”

  “And yet my brother is eager to leave it again,” Hagen’s sister commented, leaning her elbows on the surface of the table.

  “That’s Edar’s own doing. We had nothing to do with him changing his mind,” Sandor explained, the burned side of his face shining a dull red with the light of the torches.

  “I hear you’ll be parting ways in Braavos,” Bryar said, eyeing Sandor.

  “Yes,” Sansa nodded, feeling the need to remind Bryar she was present. “He will only accompany us till we reach Braavos.”

  She wasn’t sure if she felt indignant or pleased that another woman coveted her big man. But there simply was _something_ about Bryar Edar that made it hard for Sansa to converse with her.

  “Who is the captain of the ship you will be sailing on?” Bryar asked Sandor. “Amon told me his name, but I wasn’t paying him much mind at the moment and I forgot.”

  “A Lorathi,” Hagen Edar answered, making his appearance known to them as he stepped into the hall from a side door. “Trymm.”

  Bryar seemed to approve of the man. “It could have been worse. He is a great captain and a good sailor. I traveled with him to The Axe once some years ago.”

  “What were you doing so far east?” her brother asked, removing his crossbow from his back and placing it on the floor beside his seat. Sansa wondered how could the Edar siblings look so alike, and yet _be_ so different. While Edar inspired her trust and had slowly gained her friendship, his sister filled Sansa with a wary feeling.

  “Business. What else?”

  Hagen turned his attention to Sandor and Sansa, smiling. “So, my friends, did you enjoy your time at the beach?”

  Sansa returned his smile. “Oh, yes. We had a lovely last day here. We will never forget Lorath, or the kindness you have shown us.”

  Hagen smiled kindly at her, and said, as he served himself a cup of wine, “Weren’t you caught in the thunderstorm, though? I was able to shoot down three seagulls and come home before it started.”

  Bryar gave an amused snort. “Your friends were caught in the middle of the storm, sweet brother. I watched them running across the garden for the shelter of their room from a window. They looked like a pair of drowned rats. Happy ones, mind you.”

  Sansa bristled at being called a drowned rat, but Sandor joined Bryar in the laughter.

  “ _Extremely_ happy ones,” he rasped, not one bit ashamed or angry.

  Hagen Edar shook his head, sighing. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Bursting into giggles at that, Sansa buried her face against Sandor’s chest after he had placed his arm around her shoulders, realizing that she didn’t mind in the end very much that, at least here in Lorath, her relationship with Sandor was openly discussed.

 

***

 

  Sandor guessed they were as ready as they would ever be. He stood at the deck of the _Montufar’s Dance_ , staring at the two lights ahead of the merchant galley far in the distance. _The Titan’s eyes_. Mist and darkness didn’t hinder Sandor’s sight. He knew what those lights were even before the sailors started to shout commands at each other to set the sails towards it, towards Braavos, the Secret City. _The place where all could come undone if we are not bloody careful_ , Sandor told himself for the hundredth time, uneasy. Braavos was a city made of secrets, a city of bloody fogs and stupid masks, and thrice-damned whispers. It unnerved him.

  But they were prepared. Sandor and Sansa had taken all the necessary measures available to them to try and pass for a couple of days unobserved in the greatest and most powerful of the Free Cities, a place full of Westerosi as much as Braavosi; a place that would reek of the Spider’s spies in every corner and crevice.

  Sandor pulled the hood of his dark traveler’s cloak lower. He was dressed in a splotchy dark blue roughspun and a dark well-worn cloak with a ragged hem, with a hood that swallowed his head. Sansa had said that so long as he kept his eyes down, one could not see his face, only the white of his eyes peering out in the darkness.

  “You look like some down-at-heels farmer,” Hagen Edar had observed, stroking his jaw.

  “A big one,” the little bird had pointed out, smiling warmly at him as she eyed him from head to foot with a mischievous grin, making Sandor draw her in for a hard kiss, and driving Edar out of their small cabin below decks.

  Under the roughspun he was wearing boiled leather and oiled mail, after deciding that arriving at the harbor with his armor on would draw unnecessary attention to himself. He was playing a part, they all were, and their lives depended on it. _Even Edar’s, though he may not know it_.

  The voyage from Lorath to Braavos had taken a fortnight. Enough time for Sandor to make up stories for himself, the little bird, and the mad outlaw. Sandor had found that he was actually glad Hagen _had_ joined them, for otherwise his plan wouldn’t have worked out so well. He had come up with a tale for them all, and had been thankful when Edar hadn’t asked any questions about it when Sandor revealed his and Sansa’s intentions. He had only looked curiously at Sansa and him, before shrugging carelessly and clapping his hands together. “I’m in! It’ll be our last adventure together.”

  Sansa had been the one to give him the idea, after she had remarked that it was lucky Edar knew the Braavosi tongue, since she only knew a muttering of it, unlike with High Valyrian. Sandor had never been to Braavos, and didn’t speak a word of it beyond what he had learned during his time aboard the ship.

  After Sansa had commented about Edar knowing Braavosi, this little game had all been easy to plan for Sandor. Hagen was going to be himself, the disgraced son of the famous Edar family, and Sansa was going to pretend to be his wife- since she was too pretty to pretend to be a boy- while Sandor acted as their sworn shield. The little bird would try to pass unnoticed as she followed her husband through the streets of the city, and since she spoke Valyrian with a better accent than Sandor, if anyone addressed her she could even pass as an eastern woman rather than a girl from the Sunset Kingdoms.

  Sandor wasn’t expected to talk at all. He was only going to grunt and nod, and obey his masters and keep his face hidden, hoping that his tall form wouldn’t partly give him away. He was so tense and nervous about what awaited them in Braavos that he at times wanted to curse this whole thing to seven hells and return to Lorath, and the safety of the house behind the red walls of The Ruins, but that was fucking stupid of course.

  He made a sound that may have been a laugh as those aboard the _Montufar’s Dance_ caught sight of the line of stony ridges that rose sudden from the sea, their steep slopes covered with soldier pines and black spruce. Ahead the sea had broken through, though, and there, above the open water, the Titan towered, with his eyes blazing and his long green hair blowing in the wind.

  _It isn’t as tall as I imagined it would be as a_ _boy_ , Sandor was thinking, as Sansa joined him at the prow of the deck while the merchant galley passed through the largest and deepest canal in Braavos.

  She smiled nervously as she reached him, her eyes darting to the hand he had on the pommel of his sword before growing wide as eggs as she turned her attention to the Titan ahead.

  “Oh,” she whispered in awe, holding her breath sharply. She turned her neck upwards to gaze at the head of the statue, never blinking, her cloak flapping in the wind as seabirds cried over them and the sails of the merchant ship.

  “Keep your pretty face down,” he ordered her.

  The little bird was wearing a green gown and an even darker traveling cloak, with her hood up. She was dressed richer than he would’ve liked, but as Hagen Edar’s supposed wife she couldn’t wear a kitchen girl’s shift to try and pass unnoticed.

  His words seemed to draw Sansa’s attention back to the present, for she looked at him and blinked.

  “Old Nan used to tell me and my siblings stories about the Titan of Braavos back home. She said that he was as tall as a mountain, and that whenever Braavos stood in danger, he would wake with fire in his eyes. And she said that the Braavosi liked to fed him on the juicy pink flesh of little highborn girls,” she finished, squeaking. “I never thought I would ever lay eyes on it.”

  Sandor tried hard not to laugh, his fear for a moment forgotten. He held Sansa’s hand momentarily and gave it a reassuring squeeze, before dropping it and focusing his attention on the city the statue guarded.

  Just as they were about to row beneath the Titan’s legs, before he gave a mighty roar, Hagen met them on the deck, exclaiming loudly and cheerfully, “He warns the Arsenal of our approach, and of nightfall.”

  The sodding statue shouted long and loud, almost making Sandor’s head hurt, as he noticed the numerous murder holes beneath the Titan’s armored skirts.

  “Are you both packed and ready?” Sandor asked him companions, as they passed by the Arsenal of Braavos.

  “Yes,” Sansa answered, while Edar nodded.

  Sandor spied two galleys with purple hulls coming out to meet the _Montufar’s Dance_ quickly, and seeing old Captain Trymm shouting orders, he rasped, “Best if we go below for our belongings.”

  When the three of them returned to the deck, the captain grabbed Hagen by the shoulder and said, “The custom officers await us at the Chequy Port. Do you still wish to put your companions on a boat to take them ashore?”

  “Yes,” Edar answered. “I shall stay here with the horses. Once we reach the city I will leave you.”

  The captain eyed Sandor and Sansa for a moment before nodding. “That’s wise. Do it before the Sealord’s custom officers come aboard or you will have to wait half the night on their pleasure. You’re lucky it’s evening and the harbor won’t be busy at this hour, elsewise they would have kept you waiting for hours.”

  As soon as the captain walked away, Sansa turned to Hagen and said, “Thank you for staying with Stranger and Nan. It’s very brave of you.”

  The outlaw smiled, though he seemed more resigned than pleased with the prospect of taking care of the dark warhorse that almost killed him all by himself. Soon enough, Sandor and Sansa’s boat was ready, and as a sailor with a mole rowed them towards the City of a Hundred Isles through green water, Sandor and the little bird stared silently ahead of them, taking in their first look of Braavos after Sandor had helped the her get into the boat. 

  It was a flat city in the middle of a large lagoon full of buildings, but with no walls to protect it, with more than one harbor full with ships from all over the world, in different shapes, sizes and colors. This Free City was made up by many small islands, separated by canals the way Lorath had been, and connected by grey stone bridges. But while the channels in Lorath had been wide and spacious, the ones ahead were small, twisting here and there in between streets that hosted grey houses, marble palaces, brick towers and several different temples, some with copper domes, as well as inns, alehouses, brothels and taverns.

  Sandor gazed at Sansa for a moment, feeling a salty spray hit him, but he could thankfully not see her face, hidden by the hood as it was. Their boat floated across the west bank of the Long Canal, heading towards the Ragman’s Harbor. Sandor knew Sansa would have preferred to stay at the Purple Harbor rather than Ragman’s if they had had a choice, but the latter was the one open to foreign ships, the Purple Harbor being only open for Braavosi. Renting rooms at an inn there was like a double-edged sword, with good benefits and bad consequences. On one hand, it would be easier to blend with the crowd at Ragman’s Harbor, but on the other hand that could very well end up being a bad thing, since the people there could belong to that fucking eunuch, Varys.

  He knew the sort of people who lived around Ragman’s Harbor, too. Porters, brewers, artisans, beggars, tavern owners, whores, mummers, sail menders, bakers, all low scum whom Sandor didn’t fancy having the little bird associate with, however briefly their stay here was intended to be. But there was nothing to do about it. They had to stay in Ragman’s Harbor, but Sandor knew his little bird could bear living in the rough, dirty port at the end of the day, and never complain about it.

  Returning his attention to Braavos, he saw small piers and ferry berths, as well as old grey wharves, where boats were moored, swaying above the brackish and briny water of the evening tide. Once the sailor with the mole left them on the quay, Sandor loosened his sword in its scabbard, before hiding the weapon within the folds of his cloak. He knew that at night the good folk of Braavos would soon be shuttering their windows and sliding bars across their doors, for night belonged to the bravos and the courtesans. Bravos would swagger through the city dressed up like birds from the Summer Isles, and if they saw you with a sword after the sun had gone down, they would challenge you to a fight. _And I can’t have that happening with Sansa here._

  “We have to wait for Hagen and the horses,” the little bird chirped up at him.

  “I know, come,” he said, taking her by the arm over to a corner beside an empty stall. From here they had a good view of the harbor, and could watch the _Montufar’s Dance_ as it sailed closer to Chequy Port.

  He hadn’t liked parting from Stranger and leaving him on the hands of a madman who almost pissed his breeches whenever he was near his destrier, but when the moment had come to choose between parting with Stranger or parting with Sansa, it hadn’t been difficult to say he would stay with the little bird. 

  Sandor was presently keeping his head down, his senses alert, his eyes taking in his surroundings, some of them hidden in evening’s shadows. Sansa was doing the same, put couldn’t help whisper, “It’s so strange to hear people from Westeros again.”

  Nodding, he remained silent. Darkness was falling across the secret city, creeping through the alleys and down the canals. There were few people at the harbor at this late hour, but Westerosi oarsmen and sailors off carracks from the Seven Kingdoms were among the people walking all around them, gathered together here from half a hundred lands. The mists of evening had begun to rise, sending grey fingers up the walls of the buildings that lined the old canal.

  Down by the ships in any city in the world, one could hear many things. Sandor tried to strain his ears to see if he caught tidings of Westeros and the war, but the men and women were walking by quickly, and Sansa and him could only hear fragments of their conversations, none of which make any particular bloody sense, since it was the language of the wharves and docks and sailor’s taverns. A coarse jumble of words and phrases from a dozen languages, accompanied by hand signs and gestures, most of them insulting.

  “Don’t worry,” Sansa said beside him, knowing what was troubling him. “Hagen will be here with the horses soon enough.”

  Sandor grunted and attempted to smile at her, before he turned his attention to the ships coming in and the ones departing, seeing Tyroshi with dyed whiskers booming jests at their companions even as they called them camels’ cunts, as well as Lyseni niggling down prices at the door of a brothel. He spied squat, hairy Ibbenese growling a curse and showing the fist at a Summer Islander, who was wearing a feathered cloak of different colors and had just come down from a swan ship.

  The little bird turned her nose at the sailors and the brothel, hugging herself.  There was a chill in the air, but the night was not half as foggy as he’d expected, thankfully. He didn’t fancy any of them walking straight into a canal. Sandor stepped closer to Sansa, wishing he could put his arm around her and assure her no harm would come to her.

  They waited for less than half an hour for Edar, Nan and Stranger to appear. Finally, at long fucking last, Sandor sighed in relief when he saw the mist give way before Hagen, who was leading their horses by the reins in both hands, looking as if he couldn’t believe what he was doing, his bow and quiver strapped to his back.

  “What took you so long?” Sandor asked him, once Hagen had given him his horse’s reins. Stranger neighed as he saw its master.

  “I’m sorry, but your horse was quite difficult to coach into accepting me leading him down the plank of the ship,” the outlaw said, expecting some sort of recognition from him.

  Sandor only barked, “Thanks.”

  Sansa was kissing Nan’s muzzle. “Yes, thank you, Hagen.”

  Edar readjusted his black wool cloak around his shoulders, smiling. “Nan was no trouble, Jeyne. She’s a sweet gentle mare and didn’t try to bite my ear off.”

  The bird smiled at those words, looking a little less pale than she had been for the last couple of weeks on the ship.

  “Let’s go,” Sandor rasped. “We have to rent some rooms.”

  “Agree,” Edar put in, stretching tiredly. “I would kill to have a full belly of some hot food, and a room with a fire crackling merrily in the hearth.”

  “And I will kill you if you get yourself into a fight with some bravo because you’re wearing a bow and quiver on your back for everyone to see,” Sandor warned him.

  “Bravos only fight men armed with steel,” the outlaw told him, looking pointedly at the place where Sandor’s sword was hidden beneath his cloak. “I think it would be me doing the killing if we get into a fight.”

  Sandor laughed at that. “You have a point there. Now take Jeyne’s arm with one hand and lead Nan with the other, while I follow you both with Stranger.”

  Sansa nodded and waited for Hagen to step before her. His little bird’s supposed husband did as Sandor told him, and then they began walking down the cobblestone streets and alleys of Braavos, turning their backs on the harbor and its grey-green waters, discovering that this city was too bloody noisy, was made of stone and granite and it crawled with cats. The three of them made their way past windowless dark grey buildings, and beneath a flight of stone steps that led them away from the dock, before crossing a carved bridge with lacy leafy vines above a canal.

  Sandor didn’t like the look of the first inn they encountered, called _The Black_ _Bargeman_ , and Edar said he had heard from Captain Trymm that _Moroggo’s_ was shunned ever since a sailor from Volantis had stabbed a whore in the second floor. In the end, they rented two adjacent rooms on the fourth floor of _The Inn of the Green Eel_ , a building six stories high, with a peaked tiled roof. The innkeeper was a man older than Hagen, with a windburnt face and grey stubble on his jaw and cheeks.

  Sandor and Sansa decided to have their dinner sent to their rooms after they had taken their horses to the stables. Sansa took a quick hot bath before Sandor did, but the warm water didn’t serve to relax him. He sat at the edge of the bed in the room they’d bought, honing his sword as she lay on her belly beside him and closed her eyes, trying to get some rest.

  When their dinner arrived, Hagen came with it. Sansa quickly covered her nightgown with a robe and said, “Let him in.”

  Sandor unlocked the door to their room, stepping aside as the madman walked into the room, exclaiming, “Ah, my dearest, I hope Brun took good care of you while I was downstairs.”

  Sansa nodded, smiling at the outlaw. Sandor bowed his head humbly at the innkeeper, who placed the food on the surface of the table and left them with a bow. He was supposed to be Brun, the Edars’ servant, and could only hope the innkeeper wouldn’t notice that Sansa was going to end up sharing the room with her supposed servant rather than with her supposed husband.

  Sandor wondered when would Edar finally decide to leave them now that they had reached Braavos, but since the man had just helped him and Sansa out, he didn’t feel it right to bring the matter up tonight. _And we need him till we leave for White Harbor; he is the only one of us who can speak Braavosi_.

  As they all wolfed down their stew, Hagen said, “On the morrow we can go to the docks and we’ll ask about and find which ship is departing next for Westeros. You do know where in the Seven Kingdoms you want to head for next, don’t you?”

  The little bird nodded, taking a sip of the water she’d ordered, “White Harbor. And a ship from Westeros would be our best hope.”

  _Aye, a trader out of Gulltown, maybe, with kin in the Night’s Watch_ , Sandor thought, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Hagen Edar looked at the window for a moment, considering. “Even in autumn, this city is a busy port. You should not have trouble finding a suitable vessel to take you there. And since you can pay for your passage and that of your horses thanks to Hrolf’s silver coins, you won’t find it a difficult task.”

  Sandor already knew all of this. He placed his hand on Sansa’s leg under the small round table as he always did when they were eating, and asked Edar, “Do you know why the rooms were so fucking expensive? We had a room bigger than this one in Pentos once, and yet we had to pay double for this one.”

  “Wood is costly here. I don’t know if you could notice it due to the fog and all tonight, but trees do not grow on Braavos. Save in the courts and gardens of the mighty, I suppose. Firewood is brought here by barge, up the rivers and across the lagoon. Ha, even dung is dear here. I’m sure that if you talked with the innkeeper, you could sell him Stranger and Nan’s dung at a fair price.”

 _Fuck, that’s true_ , Sandor realized. He hadn’t seen any horses on their road from the harbor to the inn, only boats. What if someone recognized his stallion? Stranger was no common plow horse, that was plain at a glance. He sighed, thinking that if he caught sight of anyone staring long and hard at Sansa, Stranger or at himself, then he should be ready to fight.

  Sansa frowned beside him. “But I saw pines covering the outlying island around the lagoon as we sailed on the boat. Why don’t Braavosi use that wood?”

  “Those pines act as windbreakers that shield the locals from storms, Jeyne,” Edar remarked. “They won’t cut those trees.”

  “Oh,” the little bird answered, almost finishing her stew.

  When they were done with their dinner, Edar stood up, yawning, and scratching his back.

  “Should I wake you both at dawn?” he asked them.

  “No,” Sandor replied, shaking his head. “I want us to go to the harbor early, when there isn’t anybody around. We must leave the inn half an hour before dawn.”

  Hagen stared at him in disbelief. Sansa sighed in resignation at the thought of getting so little sleep.

  “No one will be awake at that hour,” the outlaw explained. “I bet nine in ten captains will be drunk and–”

  “And the one that isn’t will be the one whom me and Jeyne would prefer commands the ship we pay passage on, wouldn’t he?” Sandor interrupted, explaining the reason behind his decision.

  Edar relented, shaking his head. “All right, but _you_ wake me up instead, then. I won’t be able to wake up at that hour on my own.”

  He opened the door of their bedroom and peered into the hallway, making sure no one was out there to see him leave the room where the woman they thought was his wife would be sleeping.

  After Sandor barred the door shut and locked it, he turned to find Sansa staring out at the city from the little window, her hand at her throat. Sandor smiled, wishing he could put his fear at bay for the time being and let his guard down.

  “Little bird,” he said, calling at her, but Sansa didn’t seem to hear him. She kept looking out of the window in silence; he stepped behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder, asking, “What is it?”

  Sansa shook her head at his touch and blinked, turning around to look at him. She attempted a small smile as he frowned down at her in concern, when he touched her brow to see if she was not sick.

  “I’m just tired,” she told him, smiling wider. 

  Sandor nodded in understanding, seeing the dark shadows under her blue eyes. “Come, let’s get into bed.”

  “You aren’t going to sleep, are you?” she asked him knowingly, getting under the blankets beside him.

  “I don’t think so, little bird. I think that not even if I had a mind to do so would I be able to. But I’m not tired. Don’t worry, you go to sleep.”

  Sansa moved closer to him after he had wrapped his arms around her, seeking the warmth he had come to know and love so much, and was now as familiar to him as if he had basked in it for years.

  “That would be unfair,” Sansa exclaimed, trying hard to stifle a long yawn, her eyelids already closing. “I am going to try and stay awake and keep you company, big man.”

  “You do that, love.”

  It only took a matter of heartbeats for Sansa to fall into a heavy sleep, breathing low beside Sandor. He thought then that at least she was going to get some decent rest to make up for the tiring sea voyage she’d suffered, accompanied by seasickness, but in the end little bird turned out to have quite a restless night. Sandor spent the rest of the night listening intently to any sound outside their door, but nothing came to bother them on that first night in Braavos. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the chapter! Please review if you feel like it x)


	35. The Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> *Thank you my betas: onborrowedwings & nysandra!! :D   
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

  _The direwolf was pacing restlessly by the door, readying himself for bolting out at the first opportunity. Since the night before, he had been anxious and hadn’t let anyone in the house sleep peacefully. He had sensed her presence. She was here, he knew, the smallest of his sisters, the most beautiful, the more trusting, the only one he had dared not bite even when playing. The sister whose death he’d mourned most frantically and desperately, driving every soul in the castle mad. He had to find her, and defend her. He had to._

_The woman who smelt of leather, dirt and snow, a scent he was used to by now, walked towards the door and opened it almost carelessly, and with a loud growl, the direwolf darted outside toward the street, not listening to the shouts, the curses or the voice of the boy calling after him. He had to find her_ …

 

***

 

  Sandor woke her up half an hour before dawn with a gentle kiss, making Sansa shake her head slightly in protest as he squatted beside the bed.

  “Wake up, love,” were the first words she registered hearing that morning, whispered near her ear, as she felt a calloused hand brush her cheekbone. “We have to go to the harbor and look for a ship.”

  Sansa nodded briefly in agreement once she had opened her eyes, smiling sleepily at him, wishing she could stay under the covers till midday instead, her hands behind her head, resting on the pillow. But soon enough she was sitting up in bed, shaking the night sleep from her eyes, yawning.

  She hadn’t slept very well, but whether it was due to the fear of being in Braavos or something else, she didn’t know. Sansa had dreamed during the night, but now that she was awake she couldn’t remember exactly what about. Shaking her head in resignation, she stood up and stretched, noticing that it was still fairly dark outside.

  _I must get used to not getting enough rest_ , she thought tiredly. _If we can find a ship for White Harbor that leaves today, we will probably be on it_. Sansa wasn’t pleased with the prospect of getting on board a ship so soon again, but there was nothing she could do about it. The thought of staying longer than a couple of days in Braavos was out of the question. They had to leave as soon as possible.

  Her big man was ready, putting his longsword in its scabbard as he peered at her and rasped, “I’m going to go wake Hagen up.”

  Sansa’s heart went out to Sandor then, as she remembered that he had probably not slept one bit during the night. She could sense just how worried he had been since yesterday afternoon, when Captain Trymm had told them that the _Montufar’s Dance_ would reach the Free City of Braavos within the hour. 

  _I will try not to be a lazy_ _burden_ , she decided, donning her smile and walking over to Sandor. Resting her hands on his chest she stood on tip toe, tilting up her neck so that she could reach her big man better, fisting the fabric of his tunic slightly with her hands. Sandor leaned down to kiss her with a tired smile, allowing himself to lower his defenses for a moment, one of his hands at the back of her head and the other one on her shoulder, steadying her in their warm embrace.

  “Good morning, darling,” she whispered against his scarred mouth.

  “I love you,” Sandor rasped in return, letting the contact of their lips pressed together linger.

  She smiled into the kiss, saying, “I love you, too.”

  When Sandor straightened, Sansa took the swordbelt and scabbard she’d had made for him in Great Norvos for their namedays in her hands. “Let me do it.”

  He nodded, gazing down at her silently as her arms went around his narrow waist and she buckled the swordbelt at his front.

  “Thank you for taking such a good care of me, big man,” Sansa told him.

  “Don’t mention it,” he growled, readjusting the swordbelt. “At least don’t thank me until we are far away from this place.”

  Sansa nodded, and looked up at him with her most mischievous smile, trying to boost his spirits. “I hope I can have a little time to thank you properly once we come back from the quay.”

  At her words, Sandor laughed a sound rough as a saw on stone, a warm comforting sound to her.

  “Bugger, you will, won’t you? I’m going to hold you to your word on that one, little bird,” he snarled, cupping her chin affectionately in his strong grip.

  Her lips parted as she felt his thumb on her mouth. She closed her eyes, feeling happy, loved and content, wishing they could both crawl back into bed and sleep. While Sandor stepped outside the bedroom to go wake Edar up by knocking at their friend’s door, Sansa changed quickly into the pink dress the former outlaw had given her back in Lorath. She smoothed the fabric with her hands, for it had gotten all crumpled from being packed away in her saddlebag for two weeks, and put on her traveler’s cloak around her shoulders. Moments later, Sandor appeared on the hallway with Edar behind him. _I thought he would be looking as tired as I feel_ , Sansa thought, yawning once again, as she noticed that Edar was surprisingly looking awake and alert.

  Sansa asked, not unkindly, “Oh, Hagen, must you wear your bow and quiver everywhere you go?”

  Edar blinked at her, and said, “One never knows when one will need them, Jeyne.”

  She smiled in defeat while Sandor nodded in approval. Sansa’s big man entered the bedroom and put on his own traveler’s cloak, pulling the hood up before doing the same with hers. Then the three of them went down the wooden stairs of the inn, that creaked beneath the slightest bit of weight upon them.

  “We can break our fast when we come back,” Sandor told them, as they heard the sound of someone talking eagerly to the innkeeper in the common room, despite the hour. By what little Sansa could make out of the stranger’s flowing amber voice, she hazard a guess at him being from the far away distant Summer Isles, due to his liquid accent and the way he was talking about feathered cloaks.

  “If we are lucky and we find a ship that sails away today,” Sandor continued, “then we’ll come back only to get some food, and to get the horses as well.”

  The inn had two entry doors, one opening on a street and one on a canal. Sandor, Sansa and Hagen went out through the former to avoid meeting the men. They left Stranger and Nan at the stable of _The Inn of the Green Eel_ , and made their way back to Ragman’s Harbor. Despite sleep still being heavy on her, Sansa was able to notice her surroundings with a little more detail, in awe with this strange mysterious city.

  Mouths of lesser canals opened to either side of the streets, and others still smaller off of those. There were some houses built above waterways, turning the canals into tunnels where slender boats would start sliding in and out among them later today.

  There were also fancy floating houses with lanterns of coloured glass, velvet drapes and brazen figureheads, as well as a flat-bottomed barge, heaped with crates and barrels, being pushed along twenty polemen to a side. When they had first encountered the former, Sansa stared in surprise as she caught sight of a woman dressed in white and silver silks stepping out from a barge. _A courtesan_.

  Shaking her head slightly, Sansa returned her attention to the city around her, as she, Sandor and Edar passed under arched stone bridges, each of them decorated differently. Some had fish, crabs and squids on them, while others had a thousand painted eyes. Later in the day the canal would be choked with serpent boats and barges, but in the predawn darkness they had the streets of Braavos almost to themselves.

  In the far distance, there was an enormous grey stone roadway of some kind that loomed above the canals and houses both, supported by three tiers of mighty arches marching away south into the morning haze. When Sandor wondered what it could be, Hagen told him that it was the sweetwater river that brought fresh water from the mainland for the fountains, across mudflats and briny shallows.

  Several stone statues of men in long bronze robes stood along both sides of the Large Canal, Sansa noticed once they’d reached it, when the harbor and the lagoon came into sight. Some of the stone Sealords had hammers in their hands, other books or daggers, or stars. One was even upending a stone flagon to send an endless stream of water splashing down into the waters of the canal.

  When they finally arrived at the port just before dawn, Sansa saw a little man sitting with his back against a piling, next to a big seal that barked, making her smile tiredly, as the man counted some coins at the edge of the green waterway that ran straight to the heart of the city. Ragman’s Harbor was mercifully empty at this early hour, and the few people that were already up barely looked properly awake but for one or two exceptions.

  There were almost ten ships docked before them on the quay. Three of them had been here yesterday when they had arrived, but five new ones had docked; a small carrack, a huge Ibbenese whaler that smelled of tar and blood and whale oil, two battered cogs from Pentos, and a lean galley up from Lys.

  They all went to stand before the ships, staring up at them, wondering which one would be the one to take her and Sandor home at last. _If it happens like it did in Pentos and there are none available heading to the North, I won’t bear it_.

  Hagen Edar looked at the ships before them for a moment. “Wait here. I’ll go and take a look at that galley. I think that man by the gangplank is the captain.”

  Sansa nodded, too tired to do much else. She looked about the almost deserted harbor, swaying slightly where she stood, trying to keep her eyelids from closing. She must have dozed off for a moment, because the next thing she knew was that her face was pressed against Sandor’s hard comforting chest, as she leaned against him. Sandor had his arm around her shoulder, and had wrapped his traveler’s cloak around them both, revealing a hint of the bright steel of his longsword to her eyes.

  She raised her eyes to look at him, to find Sandor already gazing down at her with an amused grin on his features.

  “Are you all right, little bird?” he asked her in his rasping voice, suddenly concerned. “You look white as a ghost.”

  Sansa nodded a little and opened her mouth to answer him, but in that precise moment the Titan of Braavos started to herald the coming of the sun, announcing dawn, making Sansa recall Old Nan’s tales from her childhood in Winterfell. The sound the Titan made boomed across the lagoon, faint with distance, but still loud enough to wake the sleeping city. When the sound had finally died away, Sandor snarled a curse at the mighty statue.

  And then, suddenly, it happened.

 

***

 

  Sandor was just rasping, “Fucking thrice-damned hells,” as that bloody Titan finally shut up, when he heard someone scream loudly behind him. Instantly, he swirled around, dragging his sleepy little bird with him, before his heart stopped as he caught sight of a dark swift shape bigger than a fucking pony darting quickly towards him and Sansa.

  _Bugger_ , Sandor thought in awe, staring at the animal even as he instinctively pushed Sansa behind him for protection. He was just unsheathing his longsword, fearing that the animal would attack her, when, in the blink of an eye, the beast was on him aggressively, knocking him to the ground, and driving the air out of Sandor’s lungs. As his back hit the ground, Sandor saw bare pointy fangs ready to rip his throat out, before his grey eyes locked with the green ones.

 

***

 

  It all seemed to happen in the matter of heartbeats. One moment, she was leaning her head on Sandor’s chest, and the next, he was pushing her behind him, as he realized that the wolf was sprinting in their direction. Sansa backed away in surprise, realizing what the animal was going to do, before it had even thrown itself at Sandor, making the latter hit the ground, the wolf still on him. Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw Hagen Edar quickly readying his bow and arrow to shoot at the direwolf, but before he could let his arrow loose, and fearing that the wolf would harm Sandor, Sansa heard herself shouting hastily, loud and clear, “Grey Wind! Ghost! Lady! Nymeria! Summer! Shaggydog!”

  She had recognized the animal as a direwolf quickly enough, and the direwolf seemed to recognize his name in time as well. When he heard his name, the wolf lifted his head in her direction, still pinning Sandor to the ground with his heavy weight. Sansa stared as in a dream at the direwolf, at his black coat and eyes green as wildfire, and she stilled instantly on her place.

  _Shaggydog_. The realization took her breath away, despite her having not seen the direwolf for almost two years now, when it was still relatively small. And then Sansa’s heart _did_ stop beating. _Rickon_. _Gods, it can’t be!_ But why else would her little brother’s wolf be here all alone? Rickon _had_ to be here.

  Sansa bent down and put her hand forward for the wolf, aware at the back of her mind that men’s voices were calling her name, calling for her to back away, but when Shaggy leapt off Sandor with a final snap in the direction of his face, his fangs bared in rage, the wolf didn’t harm her. Instead, he came towards Sansa and smelled her, and then began to lick at her open palm.

  _He’s grown so much_ , Sansa thought happily, smiling, as she brought her free hand to caress the wolf’s muzzle. _Oh, gods, Lady_.

 

***

 

  Sandor was breathing like a blown horse, blinking up at the sky of Braavos, realizing he had just come face to face with a direwolf, and the sodding beast hadn’t killed him. He knew that the animal had been a bloody direwolf, remembering the she-wolves that had accompanied Sansa and her sister down the Kingsroad well enough. Only this one was full-grown, whereas the ones Sandor remembered had been pups. Big for their ages, but pups nonetheless.

  _Bloody hells_. He looked at the animal as it got off him and moved away somewhere to his left. And then Sandor’s heart caught in his sodding throat as he saw the little bird standing near the beast, her hand outstretched, a fucking invitation to have her arm ripped off.

  “Don’t!” he screamed at Sansa, and saw Hagen Edar running towards them, his bow and arrow out, ready to kill the wolf.

  Sandor looked quickly at Sansa, afraid that Edar would end up shooting her if the direwolf moved and the arrow missed its target, despite his impeccable archery skills. Sandor quickly stood up, ignoring the sharp pain in his lungs from the blow of having an animal the size of a thrice-damned small horse hit him square in the chest, aiming to throw himself at the wolf before it could harm Sansa. He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the animal sniffing the bird’s hand hesitantly before he began to lick it all over eagerly. And then the little bird was laughing and ruffling the wolf’s fur, kneeling on the ground.

  Hagen and Sandor rasped a curse at the same moment, unwilling to believe what their eyes were seeing. Sandor became aware of his surroundings again, noticing that the few strangers that had been here a moment ago had disappeared soon enough out of fear, while some sailors were staring wide-eyed at the maid and the direwolf in surprise, up in their ships. As he dared to take a steady breath again, Sandor realized that nothing could have ever prepared him for what happened next.

 

***

 

  Sansa was keeling on the ground, laughing as Shaggy started to lick her face–a little too roughly–looking up at an unharmed Sandor joyously. Her big man was rooted to the spot, staring at her with his mouth hanging open, as Hagen Edar joined Sandor’s side warily, with his bow and arrow still raised, aiming at her brother’s direwolf, prepared to loose it at Shaggydog at the first suspicious sign.

  “It’s all right,” she told them, smiling. “He won’t harm me.”

  Edar blinked and lowered his bow just a little, clearly uncertain. Sansa saw that Sandor’s mouth had begun to twitch just as he took a step towards her, his hand already moving towards the pommel of his sword. In that moment, a small voice yelled, “Mama?” and two pairs of heads turned to the left as if one to look at who had cried that word.

  Sansa saw a skinny boy, tall for his age, dressed in filthy grey clothes, patched here and there with brown. He had unruly long auburn hair and was looking at her with big, bright blue eyes.

  “Sansa!” Rickon exclaimed, making Sansa realize that her hood had fallen back at one point, openly revealing her features. 

  The direwolf turned his head at the sound of his master, and stepped away from Sansa to run in circles around baby Rickon excitedly, his tail shaking in the air. Sansa had no recollection of standing up. Her throat felt so dry and tight that it almost hurt to speak when she let out a gasp, and screamed, “Rickon!” in return.

  Her lip trembled and tears appeared on Sansa’s eyes as her little brother ran towards her, throwing his arms around her with a cry when she fell to her knees and hugged Rickon in return tightly, barely believing what was happening, wondering if this was a dream. _Oh, gods, he’s_ truly here! _He’s unharmed and alive and here!_

  A sudden thought flashed across her mind as she felt Rickon burying his head in her hair and neck, his arms clinging to her desperately. _Who else is here?_ She couldn’t even finish that thought. Raising her eyes, she saw through the haze of tears a tall, wild, lean, bony woman halting before them, panting breathlessly, flushed from running. Shaggydog moved to the woman’s side and sat down beside her, as Sansa looked at the stranger’s hard face, thinking that she hardly looked like a woman, despite her shoulder length hair, or the brown old shift she was wearing.

  Sansa shook her head, crying. _It doesn’t matter who she is. It only matters that Rickon is here_. Letting out another sob, she ran her hand through Rickon’s hair, asking him, “Rickon darling, gods be good, what are you doing here?”

  Her fierce baby brother cried harder as he said incoherently into her hair, “Sansa, Papa dead! Mama and Robb in the south… Theon came, but we hid in the crypts… Home no more… Theon was bad… Me gone with Osha... Bran and Hodor and Meera and Jojen and Summer went away… Osha and me took a trip on a boat, and Shaggy too… We lived in trees and caves, and then the man came and took us away…”

  Sansa bit her lip, tasting blood, trying to make sense of what Rickon was telling her. But she was too overjoyed to understand right now. Rickon raised his head from her neck and looked right at her, her Tully blue eyes meeting a red defiant gaze. He asked her, “ _You_ won’t leave me again, will you? I won’t let you. Shaggy won’t let you if I don’t want to.”

  Sansa smiled and saw that Rickon had tears glistening on his face. She brushed them away, shaking her head, taking in the changes on Rickon’s face. He didn’t look like a baby anymore on the outside. His face had lost its baby smoothness, but Sansa was certain already that Rickon was still her sibling on the inside, afraid and uncertain about everything. “No, little brother. I won’t leave you ever again. I promise.”

  She kissed her brother’s cheek as silent tears of joy slid down both their faces. Rickon threw his arms around her again, and Sansa finally looked around her, her eyes searching for Sandor. Her big man was staring at her and Rickon in utter disbelief, running a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath. She smiled at him, wishing to let him know by her smile just how happy she was. Hagen Edar, Sansa noticed, had finally lowered his bow and arrow, and was looking with a frown at her and Rickon, as well as at Sandor and the hard faced unkempt woman.

  Sandor stepped towards her, grunting, and growled uncertainly, “Little bird?”

  Rickon raised his head at the words, and stared at Sandor through narrowed eyes that quickly widened in awe as he caught sight of Sandor’s burns.

  “Sansa, who is he?” her baby brother demanded to know in a whisper.

  “He is my friend, Rickon,” she answered, noticing how long Rickon’s hair had grown. _It looks as if he hasn’t had it cut since I last saw him_. It reached a little beyond his shoulder blades. He had also grown so much. _He’s going to be as tall as Robb and Father one day._ “And yours as well. You met him once long ago, though I’m sure you don’t remember. It was when King Robert came to Winterfell to visit Father.”

  “I think I remember him,” Rickon lied, still staring up at Sandor, as the latter pulled up the hood of his cloak to hide his face.

  “Rickon,” the strange woman said suddenly, walking up to them as Hagen seemed to remember where he was and did the same. Shaggydog approached them as well, but when neither Sandor nor Edar moved away in fear, despite him going to sniff at both men’s legs, the direwolf seemed to make up his mind that they were no threat to Rickon.

  “Osha, Sansa is my sister. Her direwolf was Lady, but she died in the south. Sansa, this is Osha. She’s a wilding.”

  Sandor and Sansa both stared at that, surprised. _What is a wilding woman doing with my brother in Braavos?_

  Osha looked as wary of them as they were of her, but she nonetheless gave an awkward bow and said, “Pleased to meet m’lady of Stark. Now, Rickon, come here. We have to return to the house.”

  Rickon nodded, returning his attention to Sansa, who was still holding her brother, unwilling to let him go. “We have to go before someone bad comes to catch Shaggy and hurt him. He was bad and was chained in the garden, but I let him loose. He’s never liked chains, and he ran away. You have to come with us now.”

  Sansa nodded, beaming at her little brother as she finally stood up. Rickon called his dark wolf to him as Sansa stepped towards Sandor, who quickly took hold of her hand in his.

  “Come along, little lordling,” Osha told Rickon, jerking her head in the direction from which she and Rickon and Shaggydog had come from. Rickon ruffled his direwolf’s fur and let him bite him playfully as he waited for Sandor and Sansa to start following him.

  “Oh, gods, Sandor,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

  Sandor shook his head. “You’re not, little bird. We must follow them. If your brother trusts this wilding, then I reckon we are more in danger here in the middle of Ragman’s Harbor with a bloody direwolf that gives you both away, than wherever they want to take us to. But pull your hood up first.”

  Sansa chuckled, still too stunned and happy to care much about the unspoken dangers Sandor was referring to; he drew her close to him, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword, Protector, while she put up her hood.

  So they followed the woman Osha as she quickly strode them away from the port, with Shaggy and Rickon following her, Sansa and Sandor coming next, and Hagen Edar bringing up the rear. Sansa’s mind was full of thoughts, wondering again _why_ was Rickon with Osha _here_ in Braavos of all places. _Rickon said something about Bran and Hodor and Theon, as well as of going away to live in the wild before a man came for them. Gods be good, what must have he had to endure?_ She wondered, recalling her own time as a hostage back at the Red Keep after father died. _What_ _has happened back in Westeros while we have been away?_ She at least had been almost a woman grown when her captivity started, but poor baby Rickon wouldn’t have understood much about why everyone was going away and leaving him alone.

  Sansa supposed she would at least get some of her answers soon enough by this woman Osha, so she let matters rest for the moment. _Rickon and Shaggydog both seem to like her_ , she gathered. _Maybe Osha is willing to believe I really am Rickon’s sister due to his behavior, and that of his wolf_.

  “I’m sorry Shaggy attacked you,” Sansa suddenly told Sandor, turning around to gaze up at her big man, who had been as lost in his thoughts as she had been in hers as they walked down a few streets. “Did he hurt you?”

  “I’m bloody lucky. He only knocked the air out of me, but I don’t think I have any broken ribs. That was quick thinking back there, bird. Calling the names of your siblings’ wolves.”

  “I don’t know why I did it. I just saw the direwolf and knew it was one belonging to Lady’s pack,” she answered truthfully. “To my brothers.”

  The wilding woman Osha stopped at a corner when they had just gone three streets away from the quay, apparently having overheard their conversation. She looked at Sansa and Hagen in turn before settling her gaze on Sandor and commenting, “By the old gods, when a direwolf doesn’t like you, it’s bad, and yet Shaggy didn’t hurt you much by what I can see.”

  Sandor shrugged, eyeing the wolf as it stopped to make water against a wall. “It would have ripped my throat out had the boy’s sister not stopped it.”

  “Shaggy has always been aggressive. He attacked plenty of guards back in Winterfell, along with the Walders and Maester Luwin. And he’s only grown more savage since.”

  “I’m sure he sensed that we were no foes,” Sansa put in, relieved that this woman had known Maester Luwin. _Maybe we can trust her_.

  The wilding woman turned her attention to Sansa, and answered, “Aye, he sensed more than that, I’m willing to imagine. _You_ among them. Both the boy and the wolf were restless last night. We didn’t know why, but now I think I do, girl. Your brother’s wolf knew you were near, that’s why it sprang out of the house as if it had gone mad, driving us to a merry chase after him. He led us to the port to find you, little lady.”

  Hagen Edar was staring at Osha as if she was madder than him, while Sandor narrowed his grey eyes at the wilding, looking as if he almost believed in this. Sansa knew how unbelievable it was to think those words could be true, but there was a part of her that made her feel certain there was truth in what Osha said.

  Sansa suddenly recalled the strange dreams that had haunted her sleep last night, and lowered her face so that she didn’t betray herself.

  “What are you looking at, smiley archer?” Osha asked Hagen, turning her attention to him with an amused grin, since the former outlaw didn’t seem able to take his eyes off of her, as a little smile appeared on his face.

  The wilding woman’s voice seemed to bring Hagen back from his musings, for he hastily shook his head, startled, and said ashamed, “Nothing.”

  Osha snorted. “We shouldn’t wait no more. The house is at the end of the street. Come.”

  Shaggy and Edar followed the woman, but Rickon sat on the ground, putting on the shoe that had slipped from his foot.

  “Go on,” Sandor growled beside her, making Sansa tear her gaze from her brother to settle on her big man, who was smiling down at her in understanding. “He needs you. Go.”

  Sansa smiled at Sandor before walking ahead towards Rickon, offering him her assistance as her brother took her hand in his. They followed the others, with Sandor just behind them, until they came upon the sight of a little one floor house on a dead end. Sansa let her eyes gaze all around her, noticing that this was certainly not one of the nicest places in Braavos. There was no one in the street yet, though, and that was a small mercy.

  When they all reached the house, a man opened the front door, stepping outside to meet them. In the blink of an eye, Shaggydog had slipped into the house, with a last look at Rickon to make sure Sansa’s brother was meaning to enter the house as well.

  But Sansa didn’t let go of Rickon’s hand when her eyes fell on the stranger as he stepped outside, a worried expression etched on his common features. “By the Seven, Osha. Where were you, woman? I was about to go out and look for you three. I wake up and find you all gone, and–”

  The man fell silent as he caught sight of Sansa, Sandor, and Edar behind Osha. Rickon yelled happily, “Look who Shaggy found, Lord Davos. My sister Sansa!”

 

***

 

  Sandor shook his head, staring at Sansa’s retreating back as she went to join her little brother.  _This is bloody unbelievable,_ he thought for the hundredth time in the past half hour, shaking his head. Out of all the people in the world they could have encountered here in Braavos, he would never have believed Sansa’s youngest brother would be the one–in tow with his direwolf and a wilding woman.

  _Fuck_ , he sighed, moving on as this Osha woman reached a house that looked more like a shack than anything else to him. He had a thousand questions running through his mind, besides the awareness that now secrecy was going to be harder to keep if they were seen with the wolf, but somehow, despite the bloody animal’s attack of him, Sandor didn’t mind the wolf’s presence.

_At least the direwolf knew that we meant no harm to the boy_. The boy. Sandor remembered little of Ned Stark’s youngest son from his short stay in Winterfell, but Rickon and the others certainly looked like Sansa a lot. _Sansa and Rickon have the same eyes and_ _hair_ , Sandor had noticed, while he blinked in disbelief at the sight of them both hugging and crying in the middle of Ragman’s Harbor.

  He was desperate to know how the fucking hells had the boy escaped to Braavos, but he supposed he would have to wait a bit longer to find out. The little bird didn’t seem to even remember that they had to be cautious, and Sandor couldn’t really blame her for that in these mad moments.

  Looking quickly back at the outlaw, Sandor saw that Edar was unusually quiet as he followed them. _I can deal with him_ _later_. There were other matters to deal with first. Sandor kept near Sansa and the boy, his hand never leaving his longsword, until they saw the door to the house open and a man step outside, looking ready to piss his breeches in relief.

  And then Sandor stopped dead, as he saw no other than Davos Seaworth, the sodding Onion Knight, talking to Osha and looking worried.

  “Seven fucking buggering hells,” Sandor rasped, drawing a curious glance from Sansa and Hagen.

  _What is_ he _doing here?_ Sandor wondered, steeling himself for whatever was to come. Thankfully, though, the Onion Knight seemed to be alone. He stopped talking as he caught sight of Sansa, Hagen and finally Sandor, and swore out loud in recognition.

  Sandor had met Davos Seaworth before, though he had never talked to the man. Before Robert ever took the court North, when Jon Arryn was alive and Stannis Baratheon was part of the Small Council, Seaworth had at times been summoned by Stannis to Maegor’s, and there Sandor had seen him. His eyes traveled to the Onion Knight’s left hand, and noticed how the joints at the fingers there looked stiff underneath the glove. _It’s him_. _Sodding bloody honorable Stannis’ man_.

  _And he knows who I am as_ _well_ , Sandor gathered, by the way the knight was looking at him. He snorted, amused at how little his cloak’s hood had helped in concealing his burns. _He doesn’t know Sansa by sight, but her little brother just made certain that he knows who she is by name at least_.

  “Sansa Stark?” Davos asked incredulous, after Rickon had told him whom Shaggydog had found. The Onion’s eyes settled on Sansa, staring at her long. Finally, the knight bowed at the little bird, saying, “My lady, you resemble your mother greatly.”

  “My mother?” Sansa chirped, pleased with his words, but still looking at him with uncertainty. “How is it that you know my mother, Ser? Oh, please _do_ tell me that she is well.”

  “I had the privilege to meet her when she visited Renly Baratheon’s host just before he died,” Davos answered, pausing at the end, considering something. “I am Lord Davos Seaworth. And–and I have much to talk about with you, my lady.”

  Sandor stepped beside Sansa and rasped, “You’ll talk to us both, Onion Knight.” _I won’t leave her alone with you for a moment._

  Davos regarded him with a hard look, before he spat as courteously as a rat from Flea Bottom raised high could, “Hound, I would not have expected to find _you_ here, with Lady Sansa Stark of all people. I saw you from my ship killing good men on the night the Blackwater burned.”

_I have no fucking wish to remember that night_. “I am Sandor of House Clegane. That’s the name you’ll address me by, Seaworth, if you want to keep the fingers of your other hand. And I don’t have no butcher’s cleaver with me. I won’t stop at the joint.”

  Sandor saw Hagen Edar shift before him, but paid him no heed. The Onion looked angry, but then the little bird looked pleadingly at them both and said, “Please, we did not come here to start a row right in the middle of the street. I want to be with my brother. And Sandor can stay when you tell us what you must, Lord Davos.”

  The Onion narrowed his eyes at Sansa and Sandor for a moment, before he relented.

  “Very well, my lady. Clegane can stay. Come inside, Lady Stark, if you would,” Seaworth said, stepping aside. 

  “No, _I’m_ going to talk to Sansa,” young Rickon exclaimed, as he entered the house and patted his wolf on the head, leading Sansa inside.

  Hagen and Sandor followed the others inside the shack. It was a small house with two rooms, a living room and a garden at the back fenced with tall stone walls Sandor could see through the only window in the living room. _That must be where they keep the wolf_ _hidden_ , he suspected, as he saw Rickon drag Sansa defiantly away from the others.

  “Osha, take Rickon and the Lady Sansa to your bedroom while I chain the wolf outside,” The Onion sighed tiredly, rubbing his face wearily. “Clegane, please remain here if you mean to hear what I must say.”

  He didn’t like one bloody bit the way Seaworth said those last words. He nodded at Sansa when she looked at him before disappearing into the wilding woman’s room, followed by Rickon. Davos lured the direwolf outside with a cold dead chicken, leaving Sandor and Hagen Edar alone in the small dining room.

  Sandor knew very well why Edar was so fucking quiet. _He knows now that me and Sansa lied to him about who we were._ When they had first met the outlaw in the Hills of Norvos, the madman hadn’t understood a word of the Common Tongue, but now, after months of living day after day in company of Sandor and Sansa, Hagen Edar had quickly become fluent in the Westerosi tongue, and had therefore buggeringly understood many of the events that had just occurred. Well, Sandor could talk to Hagen later, and make sure if it wouldn’t be necessary to silence him now that he had seen Rickon and Shaggy, and heard the names Stark and Clegane.

  Hagen took a seat by the small table in the middle of the dining room, his bow and quiver still attached to his back, while Sandor preferred to rest against a wall, his arms crossed before him, looking at the small room after he’d pulled down his hood. The shack was scarcely furnished, and was clearly a hideout used by the Onion, Osha and Rickon. _But who are they hiding from?_ Sandor wanted to know.

  When Davos came back, Sandor jerked his head in direction to the two small rooms down the hall, and commented, “It’s a pretty place you have here, knight. In a dirty little hidden street, near to the harbor.”

  Seaworth nodded, sparing a look at Hagen. “We could not risk staying at an inn. Our only option was to rent a house where a grown direwolf can pass relatively unnoticed. We have to keep him locked away in the back all the time. This house has proved safe enough so far, but then again we’ve only been here less than a week. We are between ships.”

  “So are we,” Sandor said, before continuing without preambles. “Who is it you are hiding the wolf and the boy from, Onion Knight? And why are you doing it as well?”

  Looking at him steadily, Davos measured him for a moment, as if weighing his chances. He at last apparently decided to take the wisest course and trust Sandor, for he answered, “From the Spider and his spies. And from your former masters and their _friends_. I take it that you no longer serve House Lannister?”

  “Took me long enough to desert those blonde-haired bastards, but, aye, you’re right. I no longer work for those cunts and sons of whores. I’m my own master now.”

  “Answer me this, Clegane. What is it that you are doing here with the Lady Sansa? The word is that you went mad from the fires and fled from the battle the night Stannis attacked King’s Landing, but the Lannisters were never clear as to what happened with Ned Stark’s daughter. Some said that Lady Sansa died during the battle and others that she sprouted wings, turned into a wolf, and flew away.”

  Sandor smiled. “Aye, I well believe that’s what’s happening. As to your question, I’m here protecting her. We escaped together during the battle, and I’ve been her sworn shield ever since we arrived here in Essos. Now _you_ tell me what has happened in Westeros since Stannis lost against the Lannisters, when they fucking burned the Blackwater.”

  The Onion took a moment to answer, as if wondering if he should even bother in correcting Sandor about putting in question one of Stannis Baratheon’s honorable decisions. Seaworth glanced once again at Hagen, as if wondering what the hell was _he_ doing here, and replied, “You say you’ve been protecting the Lady Sansa all these months, then? Keeping her alive and safe from the game of thrones?”

  Sandor nodded, and Davos went on. “Too many things have happened, and unfortunately some of them will affect the Lady Sansa badly. It’s clear to me that you haven’t heard _anything_ from Westeros until now. Neither Osha nor I have thought it wise to tell Rickon anything, afraid he will not understand, young as he is. Afraid that he would go mad.”

  Sandor shifted his weight from one leg to the other, standing a little straighter. _This doesn’t sound good_.

  “Out with it, Onion,” he spat at the bloody knight.

  But Seaworth shook his head. “I’ll tell you, but please call the Lady Sansa back so that she hears it too.”

  _Fuck_ , Sandor felt like shit as he realized that whatever had happened in the Seven Kingdoms hadn’t been favorable for the Starks, or the Onion Knight would have assured him otherwise. _Fucking hells, the little bird…_ For a moment the possibility of grabbing Sansa by the hand and taking her away somewhere safe, back to Lorath perhaps, crossed Sandor’s head. _Before she learns anything that may hurt her. We’ll take her brother and the wolf, too._ But Sandor knew that was not bloody possible.

  So instead he nodded in understanding, cursing, “Bugger,” under his breath, as he strode with a heavy heart towards the bedroom where Sansa was. His little bird was sitting on a narrow bed with her brother, smiling and listening attentively as young Rickon told her of the adventures he’d had.

  When he paused by the door and coughed, Sansa looked up at him, beaming.

  “Sandor,” she said excitedly. “Osha and Rickon have been to Skagos!”

  Sandor attempted to smile at that, feeling miserable at the thought of ruining the little bird’s happiness.

  “They have, have they?” he asked the boy, surprised.

  “Yes, we were there for a while, and Shaggy killed unicorns and we ate some together sometimes.”

  “Did they taste good?” Sandor wondered, not really certain he should believe the boy regarding the existence of sodding unicorns. _But better unicorns than human_ _flesh_ , Sandor gathered, a bit uneasy.

  Rickon shrugged. “They were good. What is your name?”

  Sansa answered for him. “He is Sandor, and he is my best friend in the entire world, Rickon.”

  Her brother looked sharply at the bird at that. “Shaggy is mine, but Sandor can be my friend too, if he likes. Shaggy likes him.”

  Sandor couldn’t help but snort at that. _Likes me?_ _Aye, I suppose he does, else he would have eaten me already._

  “I would like that,” Sandor told the boy, hoarsely. Sansa put her arms around Rickon and said, “I want you both to be friends. I love you both very much.”

  Osha, the wilding woman, had been cleaning some wooden spoons as he talked to Sansa and her brother, and at her last words she raised her head up and stared at the little bird curiously, leaving Sandor in no doubt she had understood Sansa’s words better than Rickon could.

  “Sandor, what happened to your face?” the youngest Stark suddenly asked him, causing Sansa to stare at him before quickly turning to Sandor, clearly at a loss as to how to react.

  Sandor found the boy’s lack of fear of him new and surprisingly to his liking, “Maybe I’ll tell you one day, boy, but right now the Onion Knight wants to have a word with your sister.”

  He looked at the wilding woman then, hoping she would understand what his words meant by his tone. Sansa stood up, telling Rickon she would be back, but the boy clung to her arm in protest until Osha smacked his head with the spoon, understanding Sandor. Rickon relented then, and Sansa stepped outside to the small hallway joining him, while Osha closed the door behind them, still glancing at them curiously.

  Sandor put his arm around his little bird as she buried her face on his chest, saying simply, “Oh, Sandor.”

  Kissing the top of her head, he pressed his mouth against her soft auburn hair, closing his eyes for a moment before rasping quietly, “I know, little bird. Come, Seaworth has news from Westeros for us.”

  _We can’t fucking delay it anymore_ , Sandor sighed resignedly, as Sansa raised her beautiful face to stare up at him. He knew by the way her features changed that she understood that not everything she was about to hear was going to be good.

  “Yes,” she whispered after a moment, smiling. “Gods, it’s been months, and we’ve waited for so long to hear anything. I’m so nervous!”

  Sansa looked so unprepared that it hurt him, because he knew, despite Seaworth not having spoken a word of Westeros yet, that they were not going to like what they were going to hear. But as Sandor gazed at her face, full of love as she unconsciously straightened her shoulders, he remembered suddenly all the times she had done this very same gesture back at the Red Keep whenever the little shit king had him escort her to him.

  Sandor had noticed on those occasions how the little bird would don a smile on her pretty face, as she straightened her back and shoulders, preparing herself for whatever horror awaited her. Sansa was a northern wolf who had survived the lions by herself where wiser grown men who were supposed to know better had failed. _She is preparing herself for whatever tidings the Onion Knight has to tell us_.

  “Come, big man,” Sansa said, still smiling prettily up at him. “Let’s hear what has happened back home.”

  Sandor’s heart clenched painfully inside his chest again at those words. He gave Sansa a curt nod and a poor attempt at a reassuring grin that only had her shaking her head at him, as she brushed her hand against his, her fingers caressing his discretely.

  He followed Sansa back to the dining room. The Onion Knight and Hagen Edar were silently staring at opposite walls, looking uncomfortable in each other’s presence. When Sansa said, “I’m here, Lord Davos,” the smuggler and the outlaw both gave out a small sigh of relief.

  “My lady, please, take a seat. I have much and more to tell you. Clegane has spoken to me briefly about how he became your sword shield, after you both escaped the Red Keep during the battle between stag and lion. It’s been many months since that fight, and I bring you both good and bad tidings.”

  Sansa nodded silently and took a seat on the table. Davos was sitting at the head, with Hagen to his left and Sansa to his right. The little bird looked up at him expectantly, and Sandor knew what she meant. He walked towards her and stood right behind her chair, ignoring the empty seat beside Sansa.

  The bloody knight coughed, glancing at Edar, before saying, “My lady, I do not think it wise that this stranger remains here and listens to what I have to say.”

  Hagen Edar locked his eyes on Davos, narrowing them, and said in a passable attempt at the Common Tongue, “If you want me to leave, ask _me_ yourself.”

  Before Seaworth could open his mouth, Sansa suddenly pleaded, “No, Hagen, stay. Lord Davos, Hagen is our friend, and we trust him with our lives. He knows too much already, so knowing some more will not hurt. We owe him a lot. I can’t repay his friendship by making him leave us now, appearing as if I do not trust him.”

  Edar certainly looked pleased with her words. He mumbled a humble, “Thank you… Sansa.”

  Sandor almost rolled his eyes at the Lorathi, but some of the things Sansa had said were true, and besides the little bird, Hagen was the only one he could more or less trust in this house if the choice came down to Rickon, Osha or Davos.

  “Now, please, Lord Davos, tell me what you know of my family,” Sansa said, returning her attention to the former smuggler. “Have you heard of my lady mother and my brother Robb? Rickon said something about Bran wishing to go to the Wall. Do you know where my other brother is? Maybe he went to visit my half-brother Jon who took the black about the same time that I left Winterfell for the South.”

  The Onion Knight had his hands on the surface of the wooden table. He clasped and unclasped them, and exchanged a look with Sandor. He cleared his throat. “Lady Sansa, I–I have some grave news about the Starks…”

  And so Davos Seaworth at last told Sansa, Sandor and Hagen everything, from the Lannister victory at the Blackwater to Joffrey’s marriage and death, all in the same day at the start of the new century. He told them about King Stannis’ journey to the Wall to aid the Night’s Watch against Mance Rayder and the wildings, and of Jon Snow becoming the Lord Commander. He spoke about the fall of Winterfell to Theon Greyjoy before the Boltons took it from him and married Arya Stark to Ramsay Snow.

  Davos spoke of the supposed deaths of the two little Stark princes, and of Stannis’ intention to retake Winterfell. He confided the Manderlys’ secret conspiracy against the Boltons and the mission they had set Davos on, a mission that took him to Skagos in search of Rickon and his direwolf, before wild raging storms forced him to deviate with Osha, the presumed last Stark and his wolf to Braavos, in an attempt not to perish at sea. He told them what he wanted to do now, after he had spoken of the Imp’s trial for murdering his nephew, and the death of Sandor’s brother by the poisoned spear of the Red Viper, Prince Oberyn Martell, and of the way the Imp had fled the capital after murdering Tywin Lannister on the privy.

  He spoke of the Young Wolf’s victories and of his marriage to a Westerling when he was already promised to another- a Frey woman.  And last of all, hesitating over his words, the smuggler told them about the lies the Freys spread, the betrayal of the Boltons, the marriage and imprisonment of Edmure Tully, and of the fucking Red Wedding.

  A ceremony in which Robb Stark had gone to make amends for his offense to the Freys, only to be betrayed. There, in cold blood, after having granted them guest right, the Freys had murdered the wedding guests- among them Robb and Catelyn Stark. The little bird’s mother and brother were dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… I hope you like these turn of events!  Your reviews always brighten up my week and encourage the muse to stick around ;’)


	36. Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> *For all your wonderful selfless help in these chapters, I am grateful, my betas: onborrowedwings & nysandra!! :D   
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

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  Sandor didn’t remember in which moment he had sat down next to Sansa, but when Seaworth was done talking, he became dimly aware of it, as the loud humming in his head stopped hissing when the Onion Knight finally shut the fuck up. _Seven buggering_ _hells_. Sandor’s mouth twitched, but only the burned side. It was all just too bloody much. So many things had happened in the months they’d been away, and he had been an idiot and a fool for forgetting that there was more to life than what he had come to know with the little bird. Gregor, his fucking brother, was _dead_. Oberyn of Dorne, brother to the woman Gregor had raped and killed–and good-brother of the man who had knighted him–had fought him at the Imp’s trial by combat. Gregor had managed to kill the Red Viper, but not before the latter had put poison on the tip of his spear, and wounded him over and over again.

  _Gregor is dead_. Those three words were so hard to believe. Sandor’s sole desire in life for about twenty buggering years had been to kill his rabid brother himself, and now… now Gregor had died before he had the chance to dip him in wildfire and cook him. To tickle him till the moon turned black. To break his thick damned neck in an attempt to avenge their sister Arwyn, whom Gregor had killed so soon after melting half of his own face off.

  Sandor’s first instinct was to drown himself in a sea of wine. In a matter of moments, he had learned that the dream he’d had for so long of slaying Gregor–of seeing his filthy dark blood upon his blade–had been snatched from him forever. Sandor clenched and unclenched his balled fists in blind fury, but it only lasted for a moment, making him aware of just how much he had changed. _Killing Gregor hasn’t been all I have been living for, for some time now_. The bitterness that had tormented his soul day after day, month after month, year after year, was gone.

  Hate no longer drove him the way it had once. Now Sandor was loved and loved himself, and he could take joy in realizing he had won a victory against Gregor; now that his brother was burning in seven hells, he would never get a chance to harm Sansa. _Sansa_. The little bird who kept his own fire burning, and whom he would serve proudly forever until the day he died. Sansa, who was the bread that nourished him, and who needed him right now more than she ever had before.

  Sandor raised his eyes to stare at the little bird beside him. Sansa’s face had remained so still as bloody Seaworth went on revealing more and more of the tidings from the Seven Kingdoms, and more than once the Onion looked as if he feared Sansa had not understood him. But Sandor _knew_ otherwise. Winter had come for the Starks indeed, and that was why the little bird was stunned to silence.

  Her family was either dead or scattered, with both her parents gone, and the Young Wolf betrayed and murdered. There was no head of House Stark. Eddard Stark’s children were lost, with Sansa and Rickon together at last here in Braavos, and the bird’s young sister married off to Ramsay Snow in Winterfell, a prisoner in her own home, while Bran, the boy who had fallen and lost the use of his legs, was somewhere in the north, with two crannogmen and a halfwit giant stableboy, if the word of a sodding mute ironborn boy could be believed. _It’ll be a fucking miracle if the child is still alive, despite having his direwolf with him_.

  Sandor stared at the little bird; she gazed at the surface of the table before her, eyes wide open, mouth slightly parted, not even appearing to be breathing. Feeling his heart clench painfully in his chest at the sight, Sandor raised a hand to place it heavily on the bird’s shoulder. Sansa seemed to come back to life under his touch. She turned her face around in his direction a little, and suddenly threw back her chair as she stood up.

  The quick movement startled Davos and Hagen from the deep spell they had all seemed to have been put under. The Onion Knight stared up at Sansa quietly, sadness and pity in his eyes, while Edar ran a shaky hand through his hair, avoiding looking at Sansa as she was now. The room was as silent as a fucking graveyard, he reasoned.

  The happy Sansa he had accompanied into the room was gone, replaced by a young woman who didn’t seem to know what to do with herself, looking as if she didn’t even know where she was. _She can’t believe what she has just been told. She doesn’t want to believe it_. Sandor couldn’t blame her. Davos Seaworth had just told her the worst tidings she could ever have hoped to hear when the time to return to Westeros arrived.

  Sansa steadied herself, placing her hand on the back of her chair, gulping, still staring at the table as if she had never seen anything like it. And then, in the matter of a heartbeat, she had swirled around and walked across the small living room of the shack, never sparing a look back at any of them, not even Sandor. She strode in a few steps to the hallway, before entering the room opposite the one where Osha and little Rickon were talking.

  Shaggydog began to scratch the door to the garden outside, making Seaworth stand up quickly to go take a look at the direwolf. Hagen Edar remained sitting, gulping as he tried to avoid looking in Sandor’s direction. Sandor himself had stood up as well, and after a moment’s hesitation he made up his mind and followed the little bird into the room, sighing heavily.

  The door was partly ajar, and Sandor pushed it open as quietly as he could, before stepping inside. He closed the door behind him, wincing due to the sight before him rather than because the creaking sound the old wood made, a noise that sounded as loud as a war horn, breaking the stillness that had settled in this house, but the little bird didn’t seem to notice anything at all.

  Sansa had sunk to the ground, staring at the wall before her, hugging her knees as she rocked slightly back and forth, her lips trembling, looking on the verge of tears, looking as vulnerable and young as she had back at the Red Keep, like a deer surrounded by lions. _If_ _I could only have Walder Frey and Tywin Lannister here right now_ , Sandor wished, cursing fate. _At least the Imp finally proved his bloody worth by killing Joffrey and Tywin_. The golden shits who were behind the tragedies Sansa had to endure were dead. She was shivering, Sandor noticed, as he took one good look at her before walking over to the little bird, and unceremoniously sat beside her on the floor.

  As she realized what he was doing, a small sob full of pain escaped Sansa’s mouth, and for a moment she turned her upper body away, hiding her face from him. A thousand words he could try and say to her ran through Sandor’s mind, but in the end he kept his mouth shut, knowing somehow deep inside that the little bird didn’t need to hear them right now. Instead, Sandor silently put one arm around Sansa’s shoulder, drawing her close to him, as he placed his other hand on his love’s head, gently tucking it around so that she could rest it on his chest.

  The little bird let out a small howl of despair in answer before burying her face in the fabric of his tunic, making Sandor feel deeply grateful that she wasn’t avoiding his touch. He began to smooth her hair back, away from her forehead in a caress, whispering soothing noises only Sansa could hear. His bird brought both her hands to encircle his arm, digging her fingers into the skin beneath his sleeves as she clung to him tightly, her head still pressed against his chest, her head tucked under his chin as her body started to shake beside him.

  Sandor could understand part of her pain well enough, even if he hadn’t had the happy childhood his bird had, for he had lost his grandfather, mother and sister when young; being left alone in the world to fence for himself before he was even seven years old. _Yet Sansa isn’t alone. She will always have me_. Sandor hoped the little bird remembered that in this dark hour. Long moments afterwards, in which time seemed to stand still for Sansa and Sandor in their awkward embrace, the little bird finally said in a hoarse low voice, “I want to be alone.”

  Sansa raised her head from his body then, and when she looked him straight in the face, Sandor could only gaze down at her in surprise, thinking it strange that she wasn’t crying. _No, it’s even worse than that_. She was regarding him with empty eyes, not _seeing_ him at all. _She looks as if she had just seen a ghost, as if she had forgotten who she was_.

  Sandor gave a curt nod in understatement, and rasped, “You can’t be alone here. Come, we’ll go back to the inn.”

  Sansa nodded in return and hugged herself as he stood up. When Sandor looked back at her, offering her his hand, he saw that she had already stood up as well, and was looking straight ahead of her, still stunned, still trembling slightly. Without another word, the little bird stepped outside after he had opened the door for her, and he moved to follow her. Sandor stood at her shoulder as she stopped and gazed at the closed door of the wilding woman’s bedroom, before saying in a soft whisper, “ _Rickon_.”

 Sandor knew that Sansa wouldn’t want her brother to see her like this, because he had no idea about many of the things that had happened to his family. _She’s going to hide her grief from him_ , he knew. The bird abruptly turned away, walking quickly down the hallway to the living room beyond, where Hagen Edar and the Onion were still silently waiting for them.

  But if they were waiting for a fucking sign from Sansa, then she deeply disappointed them; for without a word, without sparing a glance at either of them, she crossed the living room and opened the front door, stepping outside, already heading back to _The Inn of the Green Eel_ , never looking back to see if someone was following her.

  Sandor’s eyes swept over the men in the small living room momentarily, noticing that Edar was still sitting by the table. But sodding Seaworth, after recovering from staring at Sansa’s retreating back in surprise, quickly moved in Sandor’s way as the latter moved to walk out of the shack as well.

  The Onion cleared his throat. “Clegane, I’m sorry for–for _everything_. But must I remind you that you better not…”

  “Fuck your warnings,” Sandor growled, seething. “We’ll be back later.”

  He shouldered the man out of his way and quickly strode over towards Sansa, who was already at the end of the street, following her as they made their way back to the inn, certain already about some matters, and yet so unsure about so many others now.

  They walked briskly back to the inn. Sandor kept his attention focused on the bird’s back and their surroundings, noticing how the city of Braavos was quickly becoming alive by now. The streets were swarming with sellers and cod wives, oystermen, clam diggers, stewards, cooks, smallwives, and sailors off galleys, all haggling loudly, the air filled with words like, “Clams, oysters with hot sauce, mussels, crabs, prawns, all for sale!”

  When they were passing beneath a green copper dome beside a building with tall square towers, near the immense grey arches of the sweetwater river, Sandor had to almost shoulder a group of men dressed in coats of brown and grey out of his way when Sansa’s tall frame disappeared from his sight. When he finally reached her, he put his hand on her shoulder and muttered, “You’re going the wrong way.”

  Sansa didn’t seem to care she was lost. She didn’t nod or look at him, but Sandor knew she was desperate to get back to their rooms at the inn, and quickly dropped his hand to the pommel of his longsword before striding over in the right direction, Sansa following him. The moment they reached _The Inn of the Green_ _Eel_ , Sansa made for the wooden stairs, and climbed up to the floor on which the rooms they had paid for were.

  Sandor followed her at a slow pace, knowing what she was intending to do. When he finally reached the landing of the fourth floor, he caught sight of the little bird as she opened the door to their bedroom and briskly walked inside, shutting it behind her, the sound of the lock driving a piercing sharp feeling through Sandor’s guts. He sighed and walked over to the closed door, resting his forehead against the wood for a moment, his hand placed on the doorknob. He didn’t try to open it.

  He was going to respect Sansa’s wish of grieving alone, knowing her so well that Sandor was certain this was the right course. Knowing her so well that the moment he heard Sansa finally allowing herself to cry desperately, starting with an intake of breath that was released with a scream, he cursed under his breath, hating himself for not being able to fucking stop the world from messing up again with his little bird’s life. He tightened his grip on the doorknob, his eyes closed, listening to a terrified and devastated Sansa behind the door, feeling completely powerless.

  After some moments, Sandor stepped away, and walked into the next room, which had been rented by Edar. He entered it feeling like shit, and as he strode over to the window, to gaze down at Braavos, to make sure no one he deemed suspicious had followed them here, and started to reflect about things.

  Some time later, Sandor whirled around startled, hearing a man coughing behind him, afraid that he had been so careful in staring outside he hadn’t noticed who was already inside. But he breathed in relief when he saw it was only Hagen Edar. _So he followed us back here_. _Seven hells_. The madman was looking uncertainly at him, and yet he nonetheless closed the door behind him. The outlaw stared at his feet, as Sandor snorted and returned his attention to the street outside. 

  “I suppose I must call you Sandor now,” Edar finally said.

  Sandor didn’t answer him, having more pressing matters and concerns to dedicate his attention to. He could hear the sodding archer moving behind him, taking off his bow and quiver and placing them on the floor beside the empty fireplace with care.

  “Are you and Sansa still planning on going back to Westeros?” Hagen suddenly asked him, making Sandor sigh deeply, for he knew the answer to that. He knew somehow that despite all the shit that had happened in the Seven Kingdoms in the last months, his and Sansa’s plans remained very much the same. 

  So he shrugged and rasped, “Yes.”

  Another long moment passed, in which Sandor began to brood on just what that would bloody mean for him and his little bird, before the buggering Lorathi said, “I want to go there with you both, too.”

  _Fucking idiot_. Sandor shook his head, feeling anger coiling in his belly, as he realized that he wasn’t one bit surprised by this, for this was just like Edar. But this time Sandor wasn’t going to relent.

  “No,” he growled firmly, turning away from the window to stare with a scowl at Hagen, hoping that the sight of his face would scare the madman, help him change his mind.

  Edar took a step forward. “Sandor, please. I–I didn’t know how to ask you before. I want to start a new life in Westeros, and have wanted to for some weeks now. You and Sansa gave my life meaning again, you know, and–”

  _Bloody hells!_ This was fucking unbelievable. Sandor was worried about Sansa crying in the other room, trying to think about what was he going to do now, how the news the Onion Knight had related would affect them, and Hagen sodding Edar decided to start opening up to him about starting a new life in the Seven Kingdoms, now that he and Sansa didn’t have a life awaiting them there anymore. There wasn’t going to be any confrontation with her family about their love and desire to be together. That would have been a pretty trick of Robb Stark, trying to make Sansa abandon her wish to marry him when the Young Wolf himself had risked his kingdom for a woman, and lost it all. But Sansa’s family wasn’t waiting for her across the Narrow Sea. _Fuck, I would never have imagined what a good decision it would turn out to be not taking Sansa back to Riverrun to her family_.

  Sansa and he were penniless, with only fat Lord Manderly, Robett Glover and maybe Stannis Baratheon willing to help and protect the little bird. They had no army, and could not even become open allies with the Manderlys and Glovers for as long as they were pretending to have been beaten down into submission by the Lannisters and the Iron Throne.

  And as he tried to make sense of all of this shit, the fucking Lorathi madman was bothering him about wanting to go join them in the middle of a war, clearly oblivious to the consequences of what he wanted.

  “Bugger off,” he spat, angry.

  But bloody Edar wasn’t listening. He shook his head stubbornly. “You… Well, your horse saved my life the night my band tried to raid your caravan in the Hills of Norvos, and now you’re telling me to bugger off? Now, after making me see there was still something more to my life besides revenge, when you told me you saw my foe die? After I lost my wife there was nothing for me to do, and thus I became an outlaw, but befriending you and Sansa gave me a new purpose. Unintentionally maybe, but you did that nonetheless. I–I am _really_ sorry to learn that you two have not lived easy lives, and that going back to your homeland is dangerous, but I am sure I can help you both somehow. I would rather die aiding Sansa get back her home than having wasted away my life as a robber. I didn’t see it at first, but fate wanted me to meet you both. Why else would you have known that Arman Nervere was dead, if not to help me put matters straight in my life?”

  Sandor was staring at Hagen, feeling his anger rising inside him quickly as he went on and on about his own stinking shit. Sure, Sandor was damned if he couldn’t understand the position Edar had once been in, having been there himself, before Sansa gave his life a meaning, but he couldn’t fucking deal with the madman now of all moments. He wanted to rip the blindfold off the archer’s eyes, in an attempt to test him and see if he would still be willing to join them back in Westeros if he knew the _whole_ damned truth.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Hagen,” Sandor threw the words at the man before him with ill-concealed impatience and fury. “Maybe because I fucking killed that bloody bastard myself!”

  Edar blinked at him, opening his mouth wide, uncertain. Then he asked “What?” with utter disbelief.

  “I was the one that killed Arman Nervere in an ordeal by combat, you bloody fool!” Sandor roared, and told Hagen everything about their association with the High Sheep. How he had met Sansa by saving her at some square, and had started to force his presence on their lives, inviting her to his manse in the High City, and to his fucking ball. Sandor told the outlaw about how he had never liked Nervere, but couldn’t do much about it at the start.

  He spoke of the moment when he had overheard Arman asking Sansa to marry him, and forcing a kiss on her after she’d refused him. Sandor then told Edar about being so blind with jealousy at that, that he had threatened the Norvoshi in front of the magisters of Great Norvos, and of being thrown into prison for that. He talked about what Sansa had confided to him, regarding the way the bloody sheep had sought to force Sansa into submitting to marry him, and the way his trial had turned out.

  “But I took Magister Umeren’s hint and demanded my right for an ordeal by combat, slaying Nervere myself, and we fled from that city and joined the caravan where you found us.”

  When he stopped talking, Sandor wasn’t sure what to expect of Edar’s reaction at his revelations, yet never in a fucking century would he have thought Hagen, looking angry and scared, would yell back at him, “And did you kill Quallo before or after that?”

  Sandor stared at the Lorathi before him, surprised. He frowned, realizing he wasn’t as angry as he had been moments before now that he had let out some of his rage at someone. “No, I didn’t kill that buggering fire-loving priest. He did that himself. Umeren had him executed right there in the Plaza of the Just, after Nervere’s red pet tried to murder me once I had won the fight.”

  At those words Edar finally seemed to lose it. The outlaw began to laugh hysterically, making Sandor rasp a warning for him to shut up before they brought unwanted attention to themselves for being noisy guests at the inn. But Hagen didn’t seem to be listening to his words. As Sandor’s hand loosened his sword in its scabbard, ready to draw it out at any moment, he kept his eyes fixed on the madman before him. Edar fell to the floor, still laughing, his hands trying to tear his hair off his head. _Thrice-damned Lorathi. He’s gone rabid!_ Even Sandor had reacted to the news of Gregor’s death better than Hagen.

  But at least Hagen Edar didn’t attack Sandor. He seemed to have forgotten he was there just as his little bird had; and then his laughter finally died away to be replaced by tears, Sandor cursed under his breath, shaking his head for a long moment. He strode towards the door, thinking that he should do better by waiting outside in the hallway, when Edar said in a low voice, “Quallo was the one who started it all, you know. He was the real problem, the one that caused the fight between me and the High Worm.”

  Those words caught Sandor’s attention against his will, making him stop just as he reached the door. He turned around and gazed down at Hagen as he sat with his back bent on the floor of the room, looking at his hands, remembering, and Sandor found himself listening in turn to the Lorathi.

  “I lived in Norvos for years, and was never fond of Nervere. Yet he was competent enough, so I rarely spared him much thought at the start. But the day the High Worm’s red friend from Volantis came to the city, and got it into his pretty head to convince everyone the Lord of Light was the only true god, it all changed. Quallo and Nervere had a grand plan to make their wishes work out without opposition, which included the construction of temples with the city’s own coin, among other things.

  The merchants’ guild, along with many Norvoshi families of old noble blood, were opposed to it, because the people of Great Norvos are quite conservative and defend their beliefs, laws and customs fiercely, no matter how old they are. Nervere was getting rid of the most powerful, richer and noisier opponents one by one, through annulling whatever power they held by buying their loyalty, ruining their wealth, threatening their families with revealing their secrets. I even learned during my years in exile that he had sent Quallo to intimidate a friend of mine once.

  He did all of this quietly though, and took his time to do so with proper care. Only the victims knew the truth, and the rest of the people of Norvos only saw Arman’s innocent good character; for however dirty his tricks were, he never resorted to direct murder, and was therefore safe from being exposed as a dangerous man. When he became the High Magister, he gained yet another way to submit us all to his will, and it was legal murder. Which is precisely what he used on you, by the way. And for that, only for that, I find myself unable to get angry at you for robbing me of my revenge, Sandor, and for keeping all of this to yourself after you learned we had the same foe in common.”

  Sandor stared down at Hagen with narrowed eyes, listening with care to every word that came out of his mouth. _Why I am not surprised there was more to that sodding High Sheep than what he was letting on?_ It was a mercy he and Sansa had fucked up Nervere’s plans, or the little bird would now be married to that sick fuck.

  Hagen’s last words made Sandor shift uncomfortably where he stood. He wasn’t angry at Edar anymore, but he had to know everything before he could make up his mind about what to do with the Lorathi.

  “Did the High Sheep try the same with you before casting you into exile?” he snarled.

  Edar shook his head. “Not exactly. It wasn’t direct in my case like it was with you. It was aimed at my wife’s father. You see, Kureyen had a lot of debts. The old man had invested in a risky business, and lost, becoming indebted. He couldn’t repay them. I would have helped him, but the old bastard was too proud to talk to anyone about his problems. To avoid shaming his family by declaring bankruptcy, he chose to take his own life instead. I don’t know about Westeros, but in Norvos it isn’t dishonorable to commit suicide. Kureyen stabbed himself with a dagger, as is customary with families of old noble blood.”

  “And where is the magister involved in his end?”

  Hagen closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fists tiredly, sighing. “I found out Nervere was behind Kureyen’s fall from grace. My wife was always a delicate woman, and only got worse after what happened to her old man. I promised her that I would avenge her father, but fucked it all up and failed. You know the rest. Sinan died while I was in exile.”

  Sandor chewed on that for a moment, before asking, “How did you fuck it all up?”

  Edar sniffed. “By challenging Arman to a public duel. Nervere only laughed and refused me, but Quallo started taunting me about my own father and family affairs. The red idiot provoked me into getting into a dagger fight there and then, in front of everyone, with him. I almost killed him in the end, of course, despite him being good with daggers, before the High Worm ordered his guards to arrest me, accusing me of trying to murder a holy man, a fucking priest, just because he couldn’t fight with me for personal reasons. That’s what got me into exile. Had I attacked Nervere himself, then my sentence would’ve been the same as yours: beheading.”

  _Bloody hells_. Sandor grunted, realizing then that he had come to trust the Lorathi more by now. _At least more than I would some madman belonging to Stannis or the Northern lords_. For he had nothing to live for, unlike many Westerosi back home, seeking pardons or favors from the remaining kings and houses.

  _His archery skills could be vital for us and the northmen_ , he gathered, thinking of what use Edar could be to Sansa in the war. And he had been a successful merchant for many years. _He could be of service to Sansa with provisions, baggage train, keeping counts when arming and feeding the soldiers and smallfolk, and other such things_. Sandor was a battlefield commander, not a chief of provisions.

  _Fuck_. Sandor cleared his throat and said at last, “Edar, you can come with us back to Westeros on one condition only.”

  Hagen turned his head quickly at those words. He looked up at Sandor with eyes open in surprise and nodded. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  Thinking about the right way to say this, Sandor rasped, “You can come only if you bend the knee to Sansa, and swear fealty to her as your liege lady. To her alone, mind you. Not to her family. Not to me. To Sansa alone.”

  Hagen Edar gaped up at him in utter disbelief. But he sure looked buggeringly pleased with himself. He nodded, smiling and drying the tears from his eyes. “I’ll do it! I’ll be Jeyne’s… I’m sorry, Sansa’s sworn shield, and will live every day to defend her, hoping it can show just a little of my immense gratitude for you both. I’ll become Sansa’s sworn shield, and the world be damned!”

  Sandor grunted in amusement as he offered his hand to Hagen to help him back on his feet, his eyes falling on Edar’s bow and quiver lying on the floor by the hearth.

  “More like her sworn arrow, as you cannot even lift a fucking sword,” he told the Lorathi, stepping back to consider the man before him. _I must be as crazy as him if I’m willing to believe this could actually work_.

  Hagen Edar threw back his head and laughed at that, agreeing, “Aye, more like her sworn arrow indeed. But do you think she will _want_ me to become that to her?”

  He nodded and warned, “Yes, she’ll like that. And now you better fucking well take care of her while I go back to that shack to speak with Seaworth, or else I will make you wish you had never been born.”

  Sandor paused only long enough on his way out of Edar’s room to listen outside the door of the room where the little bird was still crying. His mouth began to twitch as he pictured in his mind what Sansa was doing inside, before he walked away, down the stairs, out of the inn and into the streets and canals of the Secret City, his cloak’s hood pulled upwards in a feeble attempt to hide his scars and burns. It took him little time to reach the house the Onion Knight had deemed safe enough to hide a bloody direwolf in.

  When he knocked on the front door, turning his neck around to see if someone had followed him, Davos quickly opened the door after Sandor caught sight of young Rickon peering at him from the window of the living room.

  Sandor stepped inside and regarded the scene before him with a scowl. Davos had a rag around his hand, and Shaggydog was scratching at the door to the garden madly, threatening to tear it down at any moment, while Osha held Rickon’s arm. The wilding woman, who was more than a head taller than the little bird, looked like she had seen all of this before. It was the bloody knight who looked none too pleased with the way Sansa’s brother was behaving.

  Sandor chuckled sourly, raising his eyebrow at the Onion. “Did the boy bit you, Seaworth?” _At least it was the boy and not the wolf who did the biting_.

  Davos nodded, looking even more tired than he had this morning. “Yes. He’s been uncontrollable for an hour now, since he learned that his sister had left the house. Punching, kicking, refusing to calm down, and agitating his wolf.”

  “Sansa said there was going to be no farewell! She promised!” the boy screamed, attempting to release himself from the wild woman’s grip.

  Osha pointed at Sandor, and said, “See, little lordling? Here’s Clegane, your sister’s friend. Now think for a moment. You wouldn’t leave without Shaggy, your best friend, would you? No? Then you know that your sister wouldn’t leave without him.”

  Sandor understood the hint quickly. _He’s going to go as mad as Hagen did a while ago if he thinks he’s been abandoned again_.

  “She is right, Rickon. Sansa is busy across town,” he told the boy.

  Rickon turned his angry face up at him, his lip trembling. “She _left_ me. When will she be back? Sansa _has_ to come.”

  He nodded. “She will. You’ll see her tomorrow. She was just so happy to see you again that she went to prepare for the journey back home, so you can leave this city as soon as possible.”

  “You hear him, boy?” Osha asked Sansa’s brother, finally letting him go.

  The boy took a moment before nodding. “Shaggy misses her. But I’ll go tell him that she is coming back tomorrow.”

  And without another word, the Stark boy ran towards the garden, unlocked the door, and laughed as his immense direwolf quickly started licking his face. When they had both disappeared far into the garden, Osha and Davos turned their heads to glance at Sandor, studying him carefully.

  “How is the Lady Sansa?” Davos finally dared ask him, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand, as he indicated for Sandor to take a seat at the table in the middle of the dining room. “We were really worried about the way she reacted to the news.”

  “Do you have some wine?” Sandor looked around the room as he sat down.

  Davos blinked at him, uncomprehending, before asking Osha to please pour him a cup of wine.

  “It tastes like horse piss, but it’s better than nothing,” the wilding warned him, once she had served him some thin cheap wine in a wooden cup.

  Snorting, Sandor drank the wine in one gulp. It did taste like horse piss, but he was grateful for the wine.

  “I asked you about the Lady Sansa,” the Onion Knight said.

  Sandor looked at the empty cup in his hands, remembering the way Sansa had straightened her shoulders this morning in preparation for hearing what Seaworth had to tell her. He recalled the way his little bird had endured the Lannisters and so many things after that, with or without him by her side, whether it was surviving in the Kingswood with practically nothing, or standing up to speak for him in front of a whole fucking city during his trial back in Great Norvos. _The little bird is truly a she-wolf of the North_. Sandor just hoped that he had been right in leaving her with Hagen in this moment. _A madman is better than no one_.

  “Don’t worry about her,” he told the smuggler, as Davos sat down in front of him, while Osha preferred to remain standing. “She is quite strong. She just needs some time alone, and then she’ll feel better. She will dry her tears, lift her pretty chin up, open the door, and be ready to go back to Westeros right away.”

  Seaworth narrowed his eyes at him, and asked in a voice dripping with suspicion, “And how do you know that, Clegane?”

  Sandor shrugged, and replied, “Because I know her very well.”

  At his words, the fucking Onion stood up indignantly. Sandor regarded this behavior with faint amusement.

  “You _know_ her very well? Clegane, what does that mean? Tell the truth now, have you dishonored the Lady Sansa?” he asked, bluntly.

  Sandor leaned against the back of his chair and chuckled sourly. “That’s a question I would have expected from Lord Rigid Baratheon. Or from one of his minions. I remember him from before Robert died and your so called king ran to hide in Dragonstone. He always looked and walked as if he had a stick up his arse.”

  That seemed to infuriate Davos. He gripped the edge of the table, and spat back, “Stannis is a better man than you or me, Clegane, and the rightful king of Westeros. He will have only the truth from my mouth, and I will have that from you now. You haven’t answered my question. Have you dishonored Lady Sansa?”

  Sandor straightened in his seat and snarled, “You want the fucking truth, smuggler? Here it is. The little bird and I have been in love for months, but neither you nor your master have anything to worry about, because Sansa is still a maid. So, no, you bloody idiot, I have not _dishonored_ the woman I sodding love!”

  The silence that followed his declaration seemed to last a long time. Davos Seaworth, looking shocked. He stared at Sandor with utter disbelief before he turned to look at Osha, at a loss.

  The wilding was eyeing the Onion Knight with a sour smile. “Might be it’s the truth he’s telling us, m’lord.”

  The damnable bugger snorted to show Sandor and Osha what he thought of _that_. He raised the hand Stannis had shortened. “My fingers will grow back before that happens, Osha. Clegane, you and Lady Sansa _in love_? You actually expect the world to believe this? Stannis will have your head.”

  Sandor could feel himself growing furious again. He stood up and roared, “I don’t give one bloody fuck what the world believes about me. I never have. I’m only telling you because you asked. It’s no hair off my arse if you choose not to take my words for the truth.”

  It bloody _was_ , but Sandor didn’t care at the moment. He was having a hard time coping with the rage Seaworth had awoken in him. A rage Sandor hadn’t felt in a long time until this morning when he learned Gregor was dead, despite him having lived with it for most of his life. _Bloody hells, how will it be like when we are brought before Stannis?_ Answering to Robb Stark, who was Sansa’s brother and cared for her, was one thing, but the second Baratheon brother was going to be a sodding ordeal to deal with.

  “Knowing you and your brother’s ways,” Davos dared tell him now, “I can hardly believe you. True, there may have never been stories spread about you like the ones that have been told of your brother with his raping and killings. But it wouldn’t be beneath you to achieve you goal by some other means. You probably took advantage of the poor little girl, who didn’t know what was best for her. Who was all alone with you for months, with nobody else but yourself to look for solace, a grown man, and…”

  Sandor almost slammed the table out of his way with his hands at those accusations, and the daring of the man to compare him with Gregor, and to think he would actually rape the little bird. He unsheathed his longsword in one quick movement of his hand before the Onion Knight could do the same. “First of all, don’t you ever dare say that I am like my brother. Or even consider that I am like the rabid dog he was, and would actually harm Sansa like that. She is anything _but_ a little girl, Seaworth. Sansa has grown and knows what she wants. She chose me, only the Stranger knows why, because I cannot explain it myself, but she did, and I will not let either Stannis or the entire bloody North combined take that fucking choice away from her. And nor will I allow them to question Sansa’s honor, to have her reputation soiled. Or to have the world see her as a stain upon her House!”

  As he went on, Sandor noticed that the smuggler’s angry scowl was changing into suspicion and then into awe, but he didn’t care. Fucking hells, this was the exact bloody reason for having restrained himself from taking Sansa for months until the point where Sandor could practically feel as if his right wrist was going to fall off at any moment. And yet the Onion dared accused him of having cared so little for Sansa that he wouldn’t mind people calling her a whore!

  So Sandor went on, pointing out, “You _do_ realize what awaits her back in the Seven Kingdoms, don’t you? Now that her family is either dead or scattered, Sansa is going to be used as a pawn even more than she was by the Lannisters, and there is no way in seven hells I’m going to stand back and watch again in silence how that happens. But I don’t see why _you_ give a fuck, for whatever bastard who wants to gain the North through her wouldn’t care if she was still a maiden or not. You know Stannis Baratheon better than me, for fuck’s sake! You may call the bugger _honorable_ , but don’t stand there and talk as if his shit didn’t stink, for he’ll be the first one to plan out how he could use the little bird for his own ends. He’ll do that over my dead body.”

  Shaggydog barked outside in the garden then, and Rickon joined his direwolf, barking with him as if he was a true wild pup as well. Osha was looking at him and Davos with an unreadable expression, but Sandor only had eyes for the man before him, wondering if he had just earned yet another foe.

  Silence settled once again over the three of them, until the wilding woman went to the doorframe of the garden to tell Rickon to keep quiet and control Shaggydog. When she came back and exchanged a meaningful look with Seaworth, the Onion Knight finally let out a long sigh and sat back down on his seat, his arguments and fears defeated.

  Sandor remained standing, staring down at the bloody smuggler with dislike, his sword still on his hand. Once he decided he could sheathe it in his scabbard again, Seaworth finally said, “All right, Clegane. All right. I can see that you _do_ love Lady Sansa as you claim, and have her best interests at heart.”

  “Glad to see you aren’t fucking blind as well as maimed,” Sandor responded, taking his seat at the table as well, warily.

  Davos Seaworth actually laughed at that. When his laughter died away, he looked Sandor straight in the face and said, “I will have to talk to the Lady Sansa about all of this when she is feeling better.”

  Sandor nodded, already knowing this. “I expect she’ll be feeling better tomorrow. The news she learned today were bad, but she has a tough skin.”

  “All Starks do, from what I’ve seen,” Osha pointed out, joining Davos and Sandor at the table, taking the chair at the head. “With Bran and Rickon.”

  “I would’ve thought she would be more like her mother and the Tullys,” Seaworth observed. “She really does look a lot like Lady Catelyn.”

  “Aye, she does,” Sandor agreed. “The boy mistook her for Lady Stark when his wolf led him and Osha to Ragman’s Harbor this morning.”

  The wilding shook her head. “I never knew the little lord’s mother, nor their father or their youngest sister, but I gather that despite Robb, Bran, Rickon and Sansa looking like their mother, they are more Stark on the inside than they are Tully on the outside. Them finding those direwolves is proof enough of that.”

  “Sansa’s direwolf was killed,” Sandor reminded the woman.

  Osha turned her head to regard him and his words, before nodding and saying, “Aye, she was. Remind me what’s that name Lord Davos called you when you two saw each other this morning? Dog?”

  “Hound,” Sandor answered, carelessly. “My House’s sigil is a yellow field with three black dogs on it.”

  “Hound, a dog and a wolf aren’t so different from each other when it comes to it. M’lady of Stark may not have her wolf with her, but she has had you from what I’ve heard. And she sure looked mighty happy about it this morning.”

  Sandor stared at Osha, and his burned features broke into a grin and he rasped a laugh despite all the shit that had happened today. He was thankful for the wilding woman’s words, not minding one whit that she had called him Hound.

  “But that was this morning,” Stannis’ smuggler reminded them both. “Now everything has changed for Lady Stark, and for all of our fates one way or another.”

  “Aye,” Osha agreed. “I told Robb Stark before he left for the South that he was marching the wrong way. He didn’t listen to me. What do you intend to do now, Clegane? For blood, death, fire and ice await us all across the Narrow Sea. That and nothing sweet. Rickon’s scrawny skin is the only one he got, and I intend he keeps it till the day he’s wrinkled all up like a prune in its hundredth year.”

  Sandor grunted, glad that young Rickon had such a staunch protector looking after him. He looked at the wilding and then at the Onion Knight. “I’ve thought of this for a while, and I have a plan.”

  He proceeded to explain it to an attentive Davos and Osha for about an hour. When he was done, it was settled that he and Seaworth should go straight away to the harbor to try and see if they could finally book passage for them all to the Seven Kingdoms. Before he had taken two strides towards the door, young Rickon came running inside from the garden, with his giant wolf dashing at his heels.

  Sandor felt he ought to get to know the boy more, and talked to him about anything that came into his mind, trying to ignore how awkward he felt doing this. _At least he looks at my face without fear_. Sansa’s brother was as wild as a winter storm, and when Sandor asked him how old he was, Rickon showed him six fingers.

  _Fuck, the same age I was when Gregor burned my face and killed my little sister_. Sandor couldn’t help it then. He ruffled young Rickon’s long hair, so much like his own little bird’s, and laughed when the boy told him once more he and Shaggy had decided they liked him.

  “You promise Sansa will come back tomorrow, don’t you, Sandor?”

  “Aye, I promise, Rickon. She will be here. I know she misses you very much already.”

  “I miss her too,” the young Stark answered.

  The Onion and him went to Ragman’s Harbor afterwards, with Sandor’s hood pulled up, as he walked silently beside Davos, letting the former smuggler talk to the captains and make the inquiries, always listening to everything that was said, and always looking at his surroundings.

  _It is better this way_ , Sandor reminded himself, yet again as he urged the man to ask several captains matters of importance about their ships. It was easier to hide the Onion Knight’s maimed hand than Sandor’s burned face, and now that they were asking captains and sailors from Westeros for information, it wouldn’t do for many to recognize either of them.

  In the end they found a galley called _The King of the_ _Seas_ , with a captain called Beren the Stout, who was from Oldtown, and was sailing to White Harbor the day after tomorrow, an hour after dawn. Beren didn’t seem to have a fucking idea that he was agreeing to take the famous Onion Knight, the Hound, Sansa and Rickon Stark, and their companions, along with their horses and a direwolf on board.

  When they were done, it was still many hours till dusk. Sandor shook Davos Seaworth’s hand, promising to return to the shack tomorrow, and he strode away back to _The_ _Inn of the Green Eel_ , to his little bird.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the encouragement I received regarding the twist to the plot last week. I shall keep my fingers crossed that you keep on liking this, and I thank you once again for reading. Reviews are love x)


	37. A Measure of Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> *Thank you to onborrowedwings & nysandra, for this chapter could not have been done without their help!! :D   
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

The loud sound of a man shouting outside in the street woke Sansa up an hour after dawn. She opened her eyes, her cheek pressed to the pillow underneath her face, and at once felt the most horrible headache descend on her. Sansa blinked, hearing for a moment the sounds of the City of a Hundred Isles waking up outside, before remembering why exactly she felt so empty and broken, as she hugged herself upon the old mattress.

  _Gods, what did my family do to deserve such fates?_ She lamented for the thousandth time since yesterday morning. Bran was lost somewhere in the North, Arya was married to a dreadful traitor, most likely against her will if that girl was truly her sister, and her mother and Robb… Sansa shivered, remembering.

  It had given her a chill to enter the living room where Lord Davos and Hagen had been, although she had been prepared to hear whatever difficulties had befallen her family while she was away. But never would she have imagined what she was about to learn. _Such fateful and dreadful tidings_. Sansa’s heart had been in her throat as Davos told them _everything_ , and changed her life forever in just the matter of moments. And when he was done, she had been left stunned, unable to think or speak. At first, she hadn’t really understood what he was actually telling her, refusing to believe it was possible, wanting to be away from the men in the room.

  She had felt as if she had walked right into an eerie dream, a nightmare, where everyone around her were shadows and ghosts. Yet she had been aware in the back of her mind that her little brother couldn’t see her like this, couldn’t know what she herself had just learned, and so had left the small house quickly, wishing to get away as soon as possible. Wishing with all her might that the Onion Knight’s words weren’t true.

  When she had reached the inn and stormed quickly inside the bedroom, locking the door behind her, Sansa’s legs had gone out from under her, and she had fallen to her knees with the blow of the knowledge that she would never see her mother’s face again. Never hear Robb’s laughter and maybe never even learn what had happened to Bran or Arya. Lord Davos seemed certain that the girl that had married Ramsay Snow was her sister, but he had also said that the girl had been delivered to the Boltons by the Lannisters, who had kept her hidden somewhere for months. Sansa had a hard time believing that the lions had had Arya in their power all these months, but she had no proof of it. In short, Sansa had lost her home, her place in the world, and everyone she had ever loved or trusted.

  Sansa’s body had trembled with her sobs; she had wailed, shaking her head in refusal, fisting her hands until her nails cut into her palms, biting her tongue and her lip until she tasted blood, bending over as she almost vomited right there on the floor, still on her knees. And then she gave herself to darkness. Sansa thought she must have fainted in the end, for the next thing she knew was that she was curled up on the floor, and evening shadows were all around her. After that, she had spent her time alternating between sleeping and weeping. She had stood up and walked to the bed, getting under the covers, shivering with grief. Though she had slept for long hours, she was still tired now.

  She had dreaded falling asleep, fearing she would be tormented with visions of Robb and her sweet mother as they were betrayed and slaughtered in the Red Wedding, by people they thought of as friends, but none such nightmares had troubled her. Her sleep had been dreamless, and now that she had woken up the morning after, Sansa felt as if she’d drunk a whole flagon of a potion made with honeywater and herbs.

  Sansa hadn’t looked upon her family’s faces for months and months now, she _had_ seen little Rickon now, and her baby brother looked just like Bran had done at his age, and just how Robb had probably looked as well. _But for Arya and Jon we all shared the Tully colouring_. Closing her eyes, Sansa allowed the images of her lady mother’s face to come to her mind, until her head was practically throbbing with pain and she felt her chest and throat were sore and dry. 

  Slowly, she got up from the bed and went to draw open the small curtains of the window, her heart full of sadness, then walked across the room to stare at her reflection in the mirror. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and her long hair hung about her face, unwashed and tangled.

  Her gaze traveled across the room, not really _seeing_ the furniture, for her mind had drifted off far away. Sansa washed her face, her mouth and her hands, before returning to the bed, too tired to change out of the pink gown Hagen had given her in Lorath, which she had been wearing for day now. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands resting at her sides, staring at the bare wall before her, thinking, feeling cold.  

  A sudden knock at the door brought her back to the present. She tensed when she heard the sound, a reminder that she wasn’t going to be able to stay in this room forever. Sansa kept silent, wishing faintly that if she didn’t answer the knock, then she would be able to go back to sleep again.

  “Little bird, are you awake?” a rasping voice called in the Common Tongue from the hallway outside, making Sansa draw in her breath sharply before pressing her eyes closed, covering her mouth with her hand, and shifting on the bed. _Sandor_.

  She must have made the mattress creak without meaning to, for Sandor went on saying, “Aye, I can hear that you are. I’ve brought you some food to break your fast with, bird.”

  Sansa didn’t feel like opening the door, and could not even bear the thought of food. She didn’t answer Sandor, but he didn’t seem to mind, for he asked her, “Are you hungry? You haven’t eaten anything in more than a day.”

  Gulping, she covered her face with her hands, taking in an even small breath in silence, bending down, her elbows resting on her legs.

  “You won’t speak to me, little bird?” Sandor called from outside.

  Sandor was silent for a moment after her own silence. Sansa was just beginning to think he had gone away in defeat, when he startled her by declaring, “I will stay here sitting at your door like a good dog until you speak to me or open the door, little bird. I could hear you crying in your sleep you know, but you’ve been silent now for some hours.”

  At those words, Sansa finally stood up from the bed, and quietly went to stand beside the door, hugging herself, and rested her weight on the wall by the doorframe. She placed her forehead against the wood of the door, recalling that this was _Sandor_ , the man she had come to know better than anybody she had ever met.

  “You were here all night?” she asked him at last, whispering the words softly.

  Sandor heard her. He barked a mirthful laughter. “Aye, little bird. I sat here and didn’t move but to fetch food for you. Will you open the door now?”

  Sansa shook her head, stating in a hollow voice, “I don’t want to. I am not hungry. I can’t eat. I… I don’t have a home anymore.  I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t have anything in this life now.”

  “That’s not true, bird,” Sandor replied, in a serious, meaningful tone. “You _do_ have somewhere you can go. Your home is still there, where you left it.”

  “No, it isn’t!” she denied, tears of anger stinging her eyes. “Winterfell is no more, and a place without a family is no home. I’ve lost my family! My mother and father are dead, my siblings are dead, and those who aren’t might be dead as we speak, too.”

  “No, not all of your family, Sansa,” Sandor told her, in a quiet deep voice. “You still have two brothers, one baseborn and one trueborn, and possibly your sister as well. And you have me, little bird. I want to be your family, too.”

  Sansa let out a sob, her tears sliding down her cheeks, realizing that even in these horrible moments, her big man was still _here_ beside her, admitting the truth of his words even if they hurt. She placed her hand on the door, but couldn’t find the right words to say to him, so she didn’t speak.

  After a long moment, Sandor seemed to make up his mind and he went on, saying thoughtfully, “I have no family either. Never really did after Arwyn died, and now that my bloody brother is dead, I am the last Clegane. I am alone, and with no home or family, not even Gregor to kill. I have nothing to give to a Stark of Winterfell but my sword and my love.”

  Sansa listened to his words, remembering for the first time since hearing about it that Sandor’s brother had died by the hand of a Dornish prince. _Oh, gods. I wasn’t there to help him cope with that blow_. She knew better than anyone what killing his brother would have meant for Sandor, but she was happy that her big man hadn’t had the chance to become a kinslayer.

  Her breasts heaved as she wept silently, recalling not the way her family had suffered but the last months here in Essos with Sandor. Remembering the way they had become friends and then had fallen in love with the other. She remembered laughter, their friends, the tears and fights, the comfort he always offered her, little gestures and daring new explorations. Sansa recalled the deep true love they shared for the other, and just how much Sandor meant to her.

  “What do you mean?” She asked him in a whisper, unsure if her tears were only of sorrow now.

  “That I could be family to you as well,” Sandor rasped through the door. “I want to go to your land and meet your people. I want to learn about your bloody white and red trees and freeze my arse off in your snows. I want to fight alongside the Baratheons and your father’s bannermen to recover Winterfell for you and your little brother, so there can be a nest where my lady wife can chirp away happily, and fill it with my pups and birdlings as pretty as her. I want you to be my wife, more than anything. I am asking you to marry me, Sansa.”

  Sansa couldn’t stand this anymore. Her heart had stopped beating in the middle of Sandor’s declaration. The moment he was done, she opened the door at last, and locked her gaze with his, barely registering the chair beside him, or the food tray upon it.  He was standing in the hallway, looking at her intently, his love for her clearly reflected there. But no matter how much Sansa wanted to throw her arms around him and cry into his chest, she couldn’t. Something in her stopped her from falling apart right here and now, as she realized that Sandor was holding his breath, waiting for her response.

  After a moment, she took a couple of steps forward and embraced the man before her, silently accepting his proposal, and making Sandor grunt and hug her so tightly that for a while she couldn’t breathe. She buried her face in his neck as he lifted her off the ground in his strong arms, clinging to her fiercely. Sansa could feel more tears in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.

  “I want a home above all else, and with you,” she admitted, closing her eyes, finding a small degree of solace and comfort just by hugging him.

  Her big man groaned hoarsely in her ear and kissed the side of her face and her neck in response. Sansa lifted her head from the crook of his neck to stare into Sandor’s eyes, as he allowed her body to slide down against him till her feet touched the floor.

  Sandor brought his hand up cup her face; his thumb brushed the wetness on her cheeks from the tears she had shed inside the room. “I love you more than you will ever know, my little bird.”

  Sansa never took her eyes off Sandor’s face as he bent down to press his mouth upon hers, his scarred lips kissing hers with love and tenderness. It was a sweet kiss, one from which Sansa drew strength from, as she thought that as long as they had each other, she would never falter in her determination to get her home back. She knew the war that awaited them in Westeros was going to be long and hard, and so was the rebuilding of Winterfell. _I can stand anything now that winter has truly come, and our time here in Essos is at an end_.

  When they drew apart, Sansa pillowed her head on Sandor’s chest and closed her eyes, as he brought his arms around her and ran his hand through her hair,  kissing the top of her head before pressing his burned cheek on her hair.

 

***

 

  Sandor’s eyes were closed as he hugged Sansa close to him, speechless because the realization that the little bird had agreed to marry him was dawning on him, and relieved that she had stepped outside from the room where she had locked herself in yesterday. _I was right_ , he thought. He _did_ know Sansa. His trust in her hadn’t been in vain, for she had just proved to him that she really did love him despite everything, and what they felt for each other was so strong not even the shit that was happening to them now could bring them apart. _She didn’t turn against me while she grieved_. _She still wants me and needs me as much as I do her._ They probably needed each other now more than ever, he gathered.

  He hadn’t forgotten that he and Sansa still had a hard road ahead of them, but for a moment Sandor allowed himself not to care. The woman he loved rested her pretty head on his chest, as he made a silent vow to protect her until his last sodding breath. _At least I did a better job of keeping her safe than the Young Wolf would’ve done_. It had hurt him to see the way she looked though, when she finally opened the door to the room. Her face was pale, and she had red eyes and shadows under them. Her auburn hair was all about the place, and she looked sick. It was a sight that reminded him too much of the bloody past, for Sandor remembered too clearly the previous time he had seen her like this; days after Joffrey had killed her father. Sandor had sat all night outside in the hall, beside her door, ready if Sansa opened the door and needed him, but in the end she hadn’t. _If she doesn’t eat soon, she will be sick, not only look it_. Sandor started thinking how he could coax her into eating something.

  The little bird was still in his arms when Hagen Edar, dressed all in black as was his custom, stepped out of his room, coughing politely to announce his presence. Sansa and Sandor turned to stare at the Lorathi, who also looked bloody relieved to see her again.

  “How are you feeling?” The outlaw asked Sansa in a respectful tone, his bow and quiver full of arrows already strapped to his back.

  Sansa didn’t bother to dry her wet cheeks as she regarded him with a deep stare. “A little better.”

  Hagen nodded, and exchanged a look with Sandor, before making up his mind and replying, “I’m truly sorry for everything. You are a good person, and no one deserves to endure what has happened to you. I trust you know you can count on me for anything you need.”

  _Good_ , Sandor thought. He had asked Hagen not to mention anything to the little bird about becoming her sworn arrow until after they had married, and the outlaw didn’t seem to mind.

  “Thank you, Hagen,” Sansa replied quietly, swaying where she stood.

  “Won’t you eat something?” Sandor asked in concern when she gulped and gripped his arm for support, staggering a little. “Please, bird. You look as if you are about to faint.”

  Sansa grimaced at the food, but gave a short nod as she took a deep breath and turned around to enter the room, the tray Sandor had left on the chair in her hands. Hagen and Sandor followed the little bird inside, the former resting his back against a wall, and the latter barring the door behind him. Sandor looked at Sansa take a seat beside the small square table, and nibble at the food unenthusiastically. He had brought her a cup of milk, some fruit and bread.

  The little bird sat on the chair with a straight back, staring at the floor, lost in thought. Sandor wasn’t sure he could stand this solemn Sansa, who looked like a pale shadow of the lively maid he had come to know so well. As she sat there, rigid, tired, and yet with a natural dignity he had never seen in any woman before at court, she looked like the strong woman she was. _The northern princess who could bear_ _anything_. But to him she was first and foremost his little bird rather than a princess. _I must make her open up to me. It isn’t good that she is hiding everything she is feeling behind walls of grief_.

  Not caring that Edar was there anymore, because Sansa needed him, Sandor strode over to her chair, and went to one knee beside her. She looked down at him with a slight frown, but when he allowed himself to lower his defenses and showed her how concerned he was for her, she gave him a little smile, as if assuring him that everything was going to be all right. And then he understood.

  Sansa couldn’t say much at the moment, but when she brought her hands to clasp one of his and gently brushed her thumbs on his calloused skin, Sandor knew somehow what she was trying to tell him.

  Sighing, Sandor winked at her and turned his neck to regard Hagen, and told him, “We’re going to get married, Edar.”

  The Lorathi seemed a bit surprised by that, but he chuckled and observed with a small smile, “About time, I’d say. When?”

  _And here it goes_ , Sandor realized. The little bird had agreed to marry him, yet she didn’t know just how soon it would have to happen.

  Sansa met his gaze as he rasped, “Little bird, too bloody much has happened while you were in this room. Yesterday, I returned to the house where your brother is hiding, and I talked to Seaworth about us. While the bugger isn’t too happy about it, he has agreed to be a witness to our marriage, and so has Osha, the wilding woman that has been keeping an eye on young Rickon.”

  Sansa’s eyes widened. “Lord Davos has agreed to be our witness?”

  Sandor grimaced, and tucked a strand of hair behind Sansa’s ear tenderly. “The little bird repeats whatever she hears. The Onion has agreed, yes.”

  “How? Why?” the bird wanted to know.

  Snorting, Sandor shrugged. “Because he knows he can’t fucking stop you from choosing whom you want to marry, at least not here in Braavos. The smuggler has no authority over you. And he agreed after I went to talk to him and explained how matters really stood between us. He knows that Stannis will be furious and he will have to be the one to bear the brunt, but he promised me he will give us his consent about being our witness after talking to you.”

  Sandor shot Edar a look then, knowing the little bird would be embarrassed, but he needed the Lorathi to stay here in the room for a moment longer. The madman at least seemed to take the hint and went to stare through the window at the street outside, humming a tune.

  “And he also said he wants to see proof that what I told him was the truth,” Sandor told her, trying to keep the deep grumble of his voice low. “That you are still a maid. He… he says he has to see the bloody sheet.”

  What little colour remained in Sansa’s already pale skin drained from her now. She stared at him in disbelief before she understood the meaning behind his words. Her eyes fell quickly on Edar before settling on Sandor’s face again, but she didn’t lower her face in embarrassment. She composed herself, to his sodding surprise, with a quiet dignity he both admired and feared in her.

  Sandor gazed at his little bird’s face, taking in just how different she looked in contrast with a couple of days before. It was something in the way Sansa was carrying herself, and a certain light in her eyes, which had stolen away the innocence from their expression and replaced it with grief and wisdom. And yet Sandor found himself loving her more than ever. A memory of the young girl she had once been flashed across his mind then. The girl whom he’d felt both annoyed and intrigued by, and who had turned into this strong young woman whom he would willingly give up his life for.

  Sansa finally nodded and said in a low voice, “Oh, I see… But, Sandor, that only means we have two witnesses. A wedding by the Seven needs to be compromised of three witnesses or more. And we would have to tell the Septon our true names.”

  Sandor had already known this, since the Onion had mentioned it yesterday. He nodded in agreement and jerked his head at Edar. “Aye, that’s true. I was going to ask Hagen to be the third witness. Would you like that?”

  Sansa and the archer exchanged a surprised look. She smiled a little and nodded. “We would be forever thankful to you, Hagen, if you helped us in this matter.”

  The outlaw practically beamed as he answered, “I would be honored to be your witness, my friends. Sansa, I’m sorry, but–but I don’t think Sandor has told you this yet. I talked to him yesterday and he agreed to have me accompany you both back to your homeland, if you don’t mind.”

  “Hagen, are you certain?” Sansa asked, measuring the outlaw before her. “You have become a very dear friend to us both, and though it would please me if you came with us, you have to know that your life would be in danger. We are going to fight Winter, and the Iron Throne and many foes before the end.”

  Sandor looked at her with pride as she pointed out to Edar what awaited them, glad to see his northern wolf wasn’t flinching from what awaited them back home.

  Hagen laughed at her concerns. “I don’t care about that, Sansa. My life has been in danger many times before this day. I was quite the fabled outlaw after all, not so long ago. But now I want to go with you both across the Narrow Sea and help you win back your home.”

  The little bird seemed to be really moved. She thanked Edar and at last gave her approval for him to join them in the journey ahead. Sandor was relieved. It wouldn’t do for Sansa to disapprove of her future sworn arrow’s presence before she even knew Hagen was going to become her protector, after Sandor became her husband.

  “You know,” the madman said sadly, as he gazed at Sandor and Sansa. “As I stand here looking at you, it really does strike me how young you are, and yet you both have known and seen so much. In a way, you remind me of me and my dear wife when I first met her, and how naïve we were of the hard trials ahead of us. I just pray that when this is all over, you have a happier ending than I did.”

  _Bloody hells_ , Sandor cursed under his breath, for he would never get used to these sodding confessions from Edar. Sandor stared at him in incredulity, but Sansa, after attempting a smile at the man, only sniffed and looked away from them both. When Edar said later that he was going to the common room to break his fast, Sandor and Sansa were finally alone again.

  Returning his attention to his love, Sandor rasped, “As to your other question, little bird, yes, we would have to tell the fucking septon who we really are. There is a sept here in Braavos. And even if this city still reeks of Varys’ spies, I think it would be best if we got married here today, rather than wait till we reach the Seven Kingdoms.”

  Sansa brought her hand to her mouth, chirping in surprise, “ _Today_?”

  Shifting uncomfortably, still on one knee, Sandor nodded and tried to make her understand how important this matter was. “I know that you are still grieving about what–what we learned yesterday, bird. But it would be better for us to marry today and leave for White Harbor tomorrow as man and wife than arrive at Westeros like we are. Your family can’t oppose our marriage now, Sansa, but that doesn’t mean the whole bloody world will stand by and let us marry in the Seven Kingdoms without having something to say about it. They will try to separate us if we let them.”

  When he was done, Sandor waited for the little bird’s answer. He wanted to give her the choice to decide upon this, but he was also hoping against all odds that she would agree to marry him today. Ever since learning what had happened to her mother and siblings, Sandor had thought hard and long on what they should do, and had come to the certain realization for the first time ever that he _was_ the best and only man who could make Sansa happy, in more than one way.

  If the little bird became his wife, the marriage would safeguard her independence and keep her protected from any unwanted marriages, or from being used as a pawn in the game of thrones again. Because he, as her husband, would be the only one the little bird would have to answer to, and since Sandor had never fucking cared about her claim in the first place, he would be content with letting her rule, happy that she had allowed _him_ to spend his life by her side.

  Not many back in Westeros would approve of their marriage, but the Faith _would_ uphold it if they presented the paper that proved they _had_ been married here in Braavos by the sodding Seven.

  Yet after what seemed an eternity to him, Sansa finally raised her face to look at his burned one. Slowly, a sorrowful yet content smile appeared on her features and her beautiful Tully blue eyes shone as she whispered, “This is my wedding day, then.”

  Sandor threw back his head at his bird’s answer and kissed her, so sodding happy for the first time since she had agreed to marry him. He pressed his forehead to hers and nodded. “It is, Sansa, though I’m sorry that it had to happen like this.”

  Sansa brought her hand up to his face in answer, tracing the fingertips of her long fingers lightly over his burns, staring at them as if wishing to commit them to memory. Sandor realized that he was holding his breath in some sort of anticipation, but the little bird only cupped his face. Sandor leaned into her touch, wishing to treasure this moments forever in his mind, grunting.

  “It’s a good thing that I finished our cloaks while we were on the ship from Lorath,” Sansa commented softly after a moment, as two tears slid down her cheeks. .

  _She is going to be mine and mine alone for true at long last_ , he thought in awe as he brushed the tears from her face, barely believing it, unable to stop his mind from wondering to what would happen tonight between them. He gulped, eager.

  When they drew apart after a moment, Sandor drew Sansa to sit on his lap on the floor with him. She didn’t protest, for which he was grateful.

  “Sandor, you’ve forgotten one thing,” the little bird said, as she traced the tip of her fingers along his own, before resting her hand above his. “You said that we would marry today and leave for Westeros tomorrow. How can we go back when we don’t even have a ship?”

  Running his hand though Sansa’s tangled auburn locks, happy that she was at last letting her walls down with him, he chuckled. “That’s settled as well, my bird. The Onion and I went to the docks yesterday, and we found a ship bound for White Harbor tomorrow an hour after dawn. The captain is Westerosi, and Seaworth said he couldn’t ask for a better ship under our circumstances.”

  She nodded, thinking about his words, before she buried her head in his neck again, throwing her arms around him.

  “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” She told him, her voice muffled, a warm breath against his skin.

  Sandor held her in his arms. “I did. I am not going to fuck this up. I told you I am going to take care of you, and this is the way I deem as best for us.”

  At this, something in her broke, and she clung to him in silence. Had she started crying, Sandor would have been glad to give her as much comfort as he could, but Sansa didn’t cry.

  “I’m sorry I said I had no family left earlier,” she said at last, lifting her head up to meet his gaze. “You have been my family for months, Sandor.”

  Sandor kissed her, silently thanking her for allowing herself to trust him long ago when he went to her bedroom as green fire filled the air, and men died all around them. Despite him having threatened her life with his dagger at her throat, the little bird must have seen something good in him that made her make up her mind, and now here they were, in love with the other. _She believed in me, and for that I will always be thankful to her._

  “And now we also have little Rickon,” Sansa went on, as they entwined hands after a moment. “He needs me, Sandor.”

He certainly agreed with that. Sandor liked Rickon, but the boy was just as wild as the woman who had taken care of him. If Brandon Stark was not found again, then Rickon was the heir to Winterfell. Sansa and he would probably have to pay much attention to the boy’s upbringing, if they all managed to come out of this mess with their heads still attached to their bodies. _He’s the Stark heir and can’t be a boy forever._

  “I told your brother that you had started preparing for the journey home yesterday, and that’s why you had gone away,” he informed the little bird. “He bit Seaworth after learning you had left the house.”

  For the first time since she had agreed to marry him, Sansa’s voice broke a little as she told him, promising it to herself, “I’m going to take good care of him. I am going to make my mother proud.”

  Sandor kissed her in agreement, knowing that she was going to succeed. Then he told Sansa they had better hurry up and go meet the others at the shack they had rented.

  “Sandor, I think you’ve forgotten one little detail,” she told him, as he kissed her hand.

  “What?” he asked quickly, counting off in his head the things he had already done to see if there was something missing.

  “We have to marry before a heart tree as soon as we reach Westeros. We keep to the Old Gods in the North.”

  _Fuck me, that’s right_ , Sandor thought, breathing in relief that _that_ was what he had forgotten. He shrugged and assured her that wouldn’t be a problem. Once, he wouldn’t have said _any_ bloody vows for anything or anyone, but when it came to marrying the little bird, he couldn’t really oppose that, he guessed.

  “I’ll marry you as many times as it’s necessary to make it fucking clear to the whole world that we mean this,” Sandor rasped as he brushed his thumb along the line of the bird’s jaw, even as his eyes traveled along her body, thinking about tonight. _That we are together because we_ want _to be_.

  “I agree, love,” Sansa whispered softly, as they hugged each other, telling the other with their bodies what was so hard to put into words.

  She asked for a hot bath afterwards, and while he went downstairs to break his fast, Edar guarded Sansa’s door, saying that this was as good as any day to start his duties as the bird’s sworn arrow. Sansa had pointed out to Sandor that he should rest, but he wouldn’t have been able to close his eyes and sleep even if he’d wanted to. From now on, it was going to be back to resting with one eye open, craning his head with every step to make sure they weren’t being followed.

  Yet when the bird almost pleaded with him to get some sleep, Sandor had to accept, and promised her that once they had talked to the Onion he would do so. Half an hour later, the little bird came down the inn’s wooden steps, her hand on Edar’s arm for support. _She looks better than earlier today_ , Sandor thought, staring at his future wife. A stranger would probably just think that this young cold woman looked tired, but Sandor was proud of his bird, for she was indeed lifting her chin up to face the world, just as he’d told Seaworth she would.

  When they arrived at the shack, young Rickon was waiting for them already, peering out of the window to the alley outside. As the boy opened the front door with a happy shout, and came running towards his sister, Sansa took a step back, bumping into Sandor. He steadied her with a hand on her shoulder and growled, “Are you all right?”

  The little bird only nodded before appearing to compose herself quick enough. She made herself smile happily, as if her heart wasn’t full of grief, and hugged her brother tightly as the boy threw his arms around her, his enormous direwolf bouncing towards the three of them. She gasped as she knelt beside the youngest Stark on the ground, saying, “I love you, Rickon.”

  Edar spared the wolf a wary look, loosening one of his daggers in its scabbard, before stepping away towards the house. Osha came out of the house, shouting for the wolf and the boy to come back inside at once.

  “Sansa, you left me!” Rickon exclaimed in reproach.

  The little bird cupped her brother’s cheek. “I’m sorry I did, Rickon. I _truly_ am, but now I’m back.

  “Where were you?”

  “I had to go and book passage aboard the ship that is going to take us back home. Back to the North.”

  Rickon stared at her in surprise. “Are we _really_ going home?”

  Sansa chuckled, kissing her brother’s forehead. “Yes we are, my little brother. Tomorrow, an hour after dawn.”

  “Shaggy is coming too, right?”

  She nodded in assurance. Sandor watched the bird taking her small brother’s hand and leading him back inside the shack, Sandor at their heels.

  After he had barred the front door close, Sandor narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the Onion Knight as he coughed politely, approaching Sansa. Sandor saw that the warm smile that had been on the little bird’s face at seeing her brother again quickly disappeared into a mask of cool courtesy when the smuggler asked her how she was doing. 

  “I am better, Lord Davos,” was her short reply, as she took a seat beside Rickon’s, not wishing to betray herself in front of the boy.

  “Osha, Lord Davos, my sister says we are going home tomorrow!” the boy exclaimed, as his direwolf went to lie down in a corner of the small living room. Sandor looked at the dark animal then, noticing how Shaggydog’s snout and jaw were leaner and more pronounced than those of a normal wolf. _His head is bigger, and his legs longer too_. _He would have killed me in the blink of an eye, had the little bird not shouted his fucking name_.

  “My lady?” Davos said, frowning briefly at Rickon. “Could we talk?”

  Sansa nodded, looking at Rickon as well, uncertain as to what she should say that would make her brother part from her side willingly for a moment. She was spared the trouble when Edar suddenly clapped his hands together loudly, addressing Rickon, “Boy, do you like archers?”

  Shaggydog lifted his head from the ground to look at Hagen curiously, and Rickon turned his attention to the Lorathi, eyeing the bow and quiver on the madman’s back with ill-concealed excitement.

 “I like swords. I had one when we were hiding in the crypts.”

  “A dagger is almost like a sword, and I happen to be a grand dagger fighter. I used to be an outlaw once in the Hills of Norvos, you know. Would you like me to show you my weapons and some tricks?”

  “Yes!” the boy replied, as Seaworth stared in surprised at the Lorathi. The Onion already knew that Edar was going to become Sansa’s sworn shield, but apparently the knowledge that Lady Sansa Stark was going to have a former outlaw rather than a knight guarding her was new to him.

  “Osha, Sansa, do you want to see them too?” Rickon asked the women.

  “Aye, why not,” the wilding said, shrugging.

  “I have already seen them many times before, Rickon,” Sansa told her brother. “You go on with Hagen. He is my friend too, and a good man.”

  As Rickon, Hagen, Osha and the wolf walked over to disappear into the wilding woman’s bedroom, Sandor moved to follow them. He didn’t like one fucking bit leaving Sansa here alone to talk with the Onion, but he wanted to prove to him that he trusted the little bird enough not to need to hear what she said about the two of them to Seaworth, who would later on report back to Stannis.

  Yet before he had taken three steps, he stopped as his little bird said, “Sandor, please, _do_ stay. I want you to hear what I tell Lord Davos.”

  Her tone was kind, yet something in her voice made both men aware that her words admitted no argument. Sandor exchanged a look with the Onion, shrugged and strode over towards the table, taking the empty seat beside Sansa’s. She smiled at him before returning her attention back to the smuggler. He asked her, “Has Clegane informed you of what he told me yesterday, Lady Sansa? Regarding you and him?”

  “He has, my lord.”

  “Lady Sansa,” the Onion continued, after exchanging a glance with Sandor. “I will speak plainly, for this is an important matter. I do not like it, this wedding between you and Clegane. I think it would be wiser if you waited. There will be much more suitable matches back home, some that could be of great benefit to the restoration of your home. Yet, while I do not doubt that you are of great importance to Clegane, I have to know your thoughts on this, too. I know he loves you, but do you love him? And, please, don’t be afraid to speak the truth because he is here. If Clegane feels for you as much as he led me and Osha believe, then he will respect your decision.”

  Sandor looked daggers at the fucking smuggler, tense even as he tried to look like he didn’t have a care in the world, but he realized that that was useless, for his heart had stopped beating as he waited for the little bird to answer, forgetting for the moment that she _had_ already accepted to marry him, and willingly. _Fuck, the Onion is right. If Sansa were to decide she wants to delay the marriage, or to turn against me, then I would end up buggeringly respecting her bloody choice, no matter how much it hurt me_. 

  He chanced a quick peek at Sansa, only to find her silently regarding her hands, as a little amused grin appeared on her beautiful face. When she raised her eyes to meet those of Seaworth, her features had turned calm, almost serene.

  “I thank you for your thoughtfulness, Lord Davos,” the little bird said with a strong certainty on her voice. “Everything you said is true, but now it is my turn to speak. I think it wise for you to know the reasons behind my lack of hesitation in wishing to bound my life to Sandor’s forever. I… I want you to understand–to see–what there is between me and Sandor to make me behave this way, so that when we are brought before your king, you can be honest and tell him the whole truth, however little he will like it. So that you can make him understand that our behavior here in Essos has not been reckless, for we never forgot what we owed to the world.”

  Taking a deep breath, and turning to look at Sandor, she continued in a firm voice that never faltered, “Sandor Clegane has taken care of me for months, and never once did he expect or even ask anything from me in return. He has respected me, aware of the consequences our actions would bring upon me and my name, which I am afraid to confess I hadn’t considered much myself before. Sandor has shared with me what little he has in this world, from his gold to his knowledge on how to survive. Sandor has saved my life more than once, risking his own in the process, since before we even escaped King’s Landing, when we were strangers, when I had no right to expect anything from him, not even the smallest mercy. Sandor has loved me for a long time, but he never took advantage of me in the way I know you and others will believe. What he _has_ done is give me strength, encourage me to speak my mind, to think beyond the lessons I was taught as a little girl. He has never denied me anything, and now I find that only with him can I be myself. In short, Sandor Clegane is the truest man I have ever known. I love him with all my heart and have longed to marry him and be his for a long time now. The only regret I have today, is that I am finally marrying him upon such sad circumstances as the ones you informed me of yesterday regarding my family.”

  Sandor’s mouth was twitching, but he barely noticed it. He was staring at her. _I fucking love you_. He wanted to forget the world and kiss Sansa. Take her in his arms and be with her here and now, but he couldn’t even move. As the little bird went on with her speech, she had at one point turned her head around to look him straight in the face without blinking, as she spoke of what had been between them. _I love you_ , he wanted to tell her more than once, but something in her blue eyes told him that she already knew this.

  When he gulped and unconsciously ran a shaking hand through his hair, Sansa rested her hand on his knee in reassurance, letting him know that everything was all right. In the blink of an eye, Sandor grabbed the little bird’s hand tightly in his, and brought it to his mouth to kiss as he brushed lightly her cheekbone lightly with his other hand.

  The Onion’s words brought them both back to the present. Seaworth said in a tired voice, smiling a little, “So be it, then. I know a lost cause when I see one, and I don’t think there are any words that will make you change your course from the one you have decided to take, Lady Sansa.”

  Sansa winked at Sandor. “You will be our witness, then?”

  The smuggler ran a hand across his face, chuckling, and remarked, “I think I must congratulate you, my lady, for it seems that today will be your wedding day.”

  Sandor snorted in relief as Seaworth became their ally of sorts at last, while Sansa thanked him. After the Onion had congratulated Sandor as well, he said, “All gods are honored in Braavos. The Seven have a sept here on an isle in the center of the city, the Sept-beyond-the-sea. Westerosi go to worship there. Let us pray to the gods that none recognize us later today when you two are bound in marriage.”

  _There are no gods, you bloody idiot_ , Sandor was about to rasp at him, just as the little bird commented, “The Seven were my mother’s gods, Lord Davos. My father worshipped before a weirwood tree in the middle of a godswood. I was raised and keep to both faiths, the old and the new. Sandor and I have talked about it and have decided to marry today by the Faith, and as soon as we reach the North, find a godswood to perform the ceremony before my father’s gods as well.”

  “I think that’s wise, my lady,” Seaworth replied truthfully, making Sandor wonder if the Onion wasn’t thinking on Stannis as he said that. _He knows Stannis too bloody well. He can already imagine his reaction to allowing us to marry twice, and by different faiths than the one he believes in_. Sandor was aware of who exactly Stannis Baratheon prayed to, but he had no fucking desire to get angry at the memory of Arman Nervere’s crazy love for R’hllor and fire, that Baratheon also followed.

  “Hagen and Osha should go take a look at the sept,” Sandor said. “See how crowded it is and the like.”

  Davos agreed. “Aye, they are the ones who could be less recognizable. They could pass off as a Lorathi merchant and his Westerosi woman, wishing to get married here in Braavos. The septon doesn’t have to know who you both are until you say your names. And in the meantime you can both go and take some proper rest. I’ll stay here with Rickon, but you two go back to the inn and try to sleep. You will need your strength to face the northern seas. ”

  Sandor couldn’t deny the truth of those words. He nodded in agreement, telling the Onion Knight that they should all meet here again three hours after dawn. _Time enough to get ready and marry before evening_. Besides them being already short on time, Sandor knew that almost all ceremonies, whether they were a trial or a wedding, in Westeros or in Essos, had to take place before sunset to be considered as approved by the law.

  “I must tell Rickon now,” the little bird said after a moment, glancing at the bedroom where they could hear Hagen telling some of his outlaw adventures to Osha and Rickon.

  Her hand was still in his, and though Sandor didn’t want to part from her, he knew it was wise for the boy to learn at least something of what was happening around him. So he let go of his bird and watched her knock on the wilding woman’s door politely, before entering it. Edar and Osha stepped into the shack’s small living room moments later.

  While the Onion, the wilding and the Lorathi started talking, Sandor found himself glancing at the bedroom Sansa had disappeared into. After a moment he made up his mind, and barely glancing at the others, he stood up and went to stand by the door, curious to hear what she was telling Rickon.

  He looked inside the room, and saw her sitting on the edge of the bed with young Rickon standing before her, allowing his sister to dip a soft cloth into a small bowl with water so she could clean his dirty face.

  “Do mother and Robb know? And Bran and Arya?” the boy was asking; his direwolf scratched himself behind the ear, after he had noticed Sandor standing outside the door with those green eyes of his.

  Sansa sighed, and replied, “No, but I know that they wouldn’t mind, darling. They love me and want me to be happy.”

  “And Sandor makes you happy?”

  “Yes, he does,” Sansa answered with certainty, smiling at her brother. “We will marry today and we will all go live in the North soon. You, me, Sandor, Shaggy, Osha and Hagen. You liked Hagen too, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, Shaggy does too,” Rickon said, frowning as he stared at the floor for a moment.

  Sansa smoothed back the boy’s auburn hair, wounding a lock around her finger with an amused expression. “Rickon, would… Can I cut your hair?”

  _Seven hells_ , Sandor couldn’t help but think for a moment. He and Sansa knew why Rickon was wearing his hair so long; it reached past his shoulder blades. _He hasn’t let anyone cut his hair since his mother went South_.

  “Mother did that,” the little bird’s brother said sharply.

  She nodded, trying to keep her spirits up. “I know she did. I remember her doing it. She brushed mine as well.”

  “She went away. I miss her, Sansa.”

  Sandor saw how the bird’s lips trembled at that, before she whispered, “I miss her so much as well, Rickon. And the others too.”

  “Will she be at Winterfell when we go home?” the boy wanted to know. “She _has_ to be there!”

  “I don’t know, Rickon. We’ll send word south of our arrival when the time is right.”

  Shaggydog suddenly surprised them all by standing up and moving to Rickon and Sansa’s side. Sandor almost stepped into the room at that, wary of the direwolf, but the black beast only started licking Sansa’s hand, as Rickon threw his arms around the wolf’s neck. Shaggydog snapped at the boy’s arm in play, drawing a laugh from Sansa. 

  “You can cut my hair,” Rickon told Sansa after a moment. “Mother won’t be angry that I let _you_ do it.”

  “No, she wouldn’t,” the little bird agreed, meeting Sandor’s gaze as he walked inside the bedroom to go sit beside her on the bed.

  She smiled at him and leaned her head on his shoulder after he had put one arm around her, drawing her close to him, under the boy and the animal’s stare.

  _This is family_ , Sandor reckoned, staring before him at the siblings and the direwolf, remembering what Sansa had spoken about earlier this morning.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate you all so very much for reading this, and letting me know your thoughts on the fic every week. Thank you! :D


	38. Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> *For all your help, suggestions, corrections, time, patience and feedback, I thank you so very much: onborrowedwings & nysandra :D   
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

  Sandor was staring at the little bird as she sat on the steps that led to the back of the shack, watching her brother play rats and cats with his direwolf outside in the garden. The boy had been eagerly telling Sansa every single thing that came into his mind, trying hard to remember all that had happened to him since Sansa had gone South.

  The house wasn’t big, so sound carried easily within its walls. Sandor could hear his little bird answering Rickon from time to time, but she was mainly silent, taking in the sight of the boy and his wolf running around in circles. _She is still trying to make sense of how much her life has changed since yesterday morning_ , Sandor knew. He wasn’t sure if Sansa was thinking about him, or of all the shit that had happened to her family, or maybe both, but bloody hells, he was damned if at least for today the most important thing _he_ was able to think about was the day before them. _I can’t fucking help myself._ The reasons didn’t matter.

  They had waited too long for this day, and despite the manner in which it had come about, Sandor _was_ happy that they were going to been able to get married before setting sail for Westeros. Otherwise they may have been expected to hide what was between them, and after the many months of living here in Essos with Sansa’s touches and kisses and open displays of love, of growing as used to them as breathing, Sandor would have starved like a hungry dog for her affections back in the north.  _This is better for us both._

  By nightfall he would at long last be able to call the little bird his wife for true, and the promising night that came afterwards made Sandor lose himself in his thoughts, until the sodding Onion Knight brought him back to his senses when he exclaimed, “Clegane, I asked you if you agreed with me.”

  “What?” Sandor rasped, running a hand across his face as he tore his gaze away from the little bird, sparing a glance at Seaworth. “Agree with that?

  The Onion snorted, sparing a glance in Sansa’s direction, leaving Sandor in no doubt that the reason behind his lack of concentration was pretty damned obvious.

  Sighing, Davos repeated the question. “I asked you if you agreed with me in not sending any word yet of our coming to Lord Manderly. The raven could get lost or be intercepted, and we cannot risk the Lannisters learning that we are all alive, or the Boltons finding out that I am returning with two of Ned Stark’s children.”

  “I agree,” Sandor answered, seeing the wisdom behind those words, thankful that according to the Onion, the power of the golden fucks was weakening considerably. “No one can know yet, so Lord-Too-Fat-To-Sit-A-Horse will have to do a bit more waiting, I reckon. The moment the ship arrives at White Harbour we must all take cover somewhere safe. If there’s anyone who will be giving us trouble, it’ll be the wolf. But Osha and Hagen will have to go and look around the city undercover again. In fact, don’t you think they bloody should be here by now?”

  He didn’t want his anxiety to betray him, but this delay by the wilding woman and the mad Lorathi was starting to gnaw on his already strained nerves. After Sansa had cut her brother’s hair in the morning, he had accompanied the little bird to _The Inn of the Green Eel_ so she could fetch her wedding gown. Sandor would have married Sansa right here right now if he could have had his way, but since he _was_ aware that this was certainly not the sort of wedding someone like the little bird deserved or may have wanted, he had agreed to the delay.

  Sandor was already ready for the ceremony, wearing the cleanest plain tunic and old breeches he owned, with his mail and boiled leather underneath the clothes, since donning his armour would have attracted unwanted attention to their already conspicuous group.

  Besides fetching the wedding dress, Sansa and Sandor had also fed Stranger and Nan, and tried and get some proper rest, as well as a bath. They had then returned to the small house where Davos Seaworth was waiting for them. While they’d been away, Hagen and Osha had been sent to pay a visit to the sept-across-the-sea in the Isle of the Gods, making inquiries as they pretended to be interested in a marriage ceremony under the Faith for themselves. Sandor had been certain that the archer and Rickon’s wet-nurse would be back by now, but there was still no fucking sign of them.

  Sandor rested his hand on his swordbelt, remembering for a moment that day long ago in Norvos when Sansa had given him his nameday gifts, as Seaworth commented, “There is still time, Clegane. So long as we arrive at the sept before sunset it may all very well go according to plan.”

  Snorting, Sandor raised an eyebrow at the Onion. “ _May_ , smuggler? It all better fucking well go according to plan.”

  He shook his head before Davos could answer him, before returning his gaze to the little bird’s back. Sandor didn’t even think about it twice, suddenly deciding to stride over to Sansa’s side. Silently he stopped beside her, and placed his hand on Sansa’s shoulder, announcing his presence. The woman he loved lifted her face up to him at once, her beautiful thoughtful features suddenly softening into a small smile.

  “Hello,” she said warmly, as she brought her hand up to reach for the one he had on her shoulder when he brushed the thumb of his free hand down her nose in affection.

  “Hello,” Sandor rasped in return, smiling down at his bird, the anxiety that Osha and Hagen’s delay caused him forgotten for the moment. He took hold of Sansa’s hand in his before the little bird rested her back and weight against his leg.

  “Down Shaggy!” Rickon suddenly yelled, laughing as his wolf rolled on the ground before him, and throwing himself on top of him in play. Sandor heard the little bird sigh, making him smirk. Sansa had cut the boy’s hair short, and had even coaxed him into taking a bath, drawing approving nods from Osha and surprised expressions from the Onion Knight. But once he was dry enough, the young Stark had run out into the garden to play with his animal, taking less than two minutes in getting dirty once again.

  His sister seemed to have resigned herself to yield in this quarrel. _After everything that’s happened to him at such a young age, it’s a bloody miracle he isn’t much wilder_. _But our children won’t suffer so early if I can do anything about it._ The pups and birdlings they had together were definitely going to be lucky to have Sansa as their mother, Sandor gathered. _I can’t even truly believe my luck at having her as mine sometimes_.

  “Having fun?” Sandor asked his bird, going down on his knees, squatting beside her. “What has the boy told you?”

  Sansa moved closer to him as he brought his arm around her shoulders, burying her face on his arm.

  “I can’t concentrate” she admitted in a whisper. “You voice kept distracting me from my brother’s stories.”

  Sandor’s eyes widened. “Me? How so?”

  Sansa raised her head from his face and brought their entwined hands to her mouth, placing her lips on his knuckles, pressing small kisses, saying in between each one a word. “I don’t know. It- it soothes me somehow to hear you.”

  Looking at his little bird with incredulity, Sandor barked a laugh. “It calms you to hear me talking about the war with the Onion? Well that’s good because not only is that the only thing I reckon we are all going to be talking about from now on, but because it’s a great improvement. Remember when I used to scare the shit out of you?”

  “That was a long time ago,” his little bird chirped in reply in a deep tone that made his chest clench painfully for some reason.

  “Aye, it was,” he agreed, cupping Sansa’s cheek, leaning down for a kiss almost hesitantly, for Sandor saw how the little bird’s blue eyes widened slightly as she realized what he wanted. Thankfully, she didn’t pull away. Sandor claimed his bird’s mouth, and kissed her long and deep, trying to reassure her that everything was going to be all right somehow. The kiss started out innocently enough, with his half scarred lips nibbling at Sansa’s plump red ones, but in the matter of moments they both seemed to forget everything, and started to lose themselves in the kiss, their tongues sliding against the other, sending a pleasant shiver across his body when she whimpered slightly, both clinging to one another.

  It took Rickon’s scream of disgust at their behavior to make Sandor and Sansa remember where they were. _Not alone yet_. Soon enough though. They broke the kiss slowly though, not minding the boy much, smiling and chuckling at his reaction, as they reluctantly let go, holding hands, the air between them hot and heavy. _He better get used to this sight, along with everyone in the North._

  Rickon suddenly decided that Seaworth was far better company and left them alone, Shaggydog following in his master’s footsteps. Sandor sat down at last on the floor, leaning against the left side of the doorframe, staring at Sansa, one leg sprawled before him and the other one propped up. Sansa scurried over close to him, placing her cheek against his knee, gazing at the gathering afternoon outside. Sandor raised his arm so he could run his hand through his bird’s soft thick hair, looking down at the top of her head contentedly.

  “Sandor?” the little bird asked him after a moment.

  “Yes?” he growled.

  Looking up to meet his eyes, and placing her pretty chin on his knee, the little bird said, “How do you feel about your brother’s death?”

  _Seven fucking buggering hells!_ He stiffened, and snarled at once, “I don’t want to talk about it, Sansa. At least not today.”

  Regarding him silently, taking in the way he scowled broodingly at the mention of sodding fucking seven-thrice damned Gregor, Sansa finally nodded in understanding, respecting his decision, not pushing the matter forward.

  “All right,” she whispered after a moment, once again resting her cheek on his knee, bringing her hand to absentmindedly run down the length of his leg, her eyes fixed on the overgrown garden before them. Sandor tried hard not to let his thoughts trail back to his brother as Sansa sighed longingly, before chirping in a quiet even tone, “I _am_ happy, you know. About today. About marrying you. You know better than anyone how much I’ve wanted for this to become a reality.”

  Blinking in surprise at Sansa’s confessions, Sandor stared at the back of his bird’s head quietly for a couple of heartbeats, loving her for this, for reassuring him, before answering truthfully, “I know, love.” _I_ _wish you could be happier today_ , he wanted to tell her _. I wish this day did everything but dampen your spirits_.

  “I- I am just sorry I can’t show you how much this day means to me at the moment though,” she admitted hesitantly.

  “Enough,” Sandor heard himself snarl. “Sansa, look at me.”

  He waited until she was once again gazing up at his burned face before continuing. “Don’t say you’re fucking sorry, little bird. There is no need for it. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Not in this. I know you.”

  Sandor would never hold Sansa’s present mood against her. He was certain that the little bird loved him and wanted to be his wife and that was enough for him. _What_ _matters is that_ _she is alive and we are together_. _And I mean to keep it that way_ , Sandor vowed to himself.

  “Thank you,” Sansa replied smiling a little, clearly moved by his words, her little dimples appearing on both of her cheeks. The bright light which had shown in her eyes every day till yesterday morning had returned for a moment.

  _Seven bloody hells_. “I’m the one who should be thanking you,” he rasped.

  “For what?”

  “For what you told the smuggler about me in the morning. About us,” he snarled in reply, clearing his throat. _For sticking with me even when you were suffering through hell after what we learned yesterday_.

  Sansa frowned up at him slightly, and shrugged. “It was the truth. Every word. And that is what I will tell Stannis Baratheon and whoever else that is necessary.”

  Sandor grinned from ear to ear at his little bird’s words, not caring that the burns pulled tight across one side of his face. He grabbed her hand in his and brought it to his scarred lips to kiss it, saying, “Little bird, whatever they all say about me when we return to Westeros, about who I used to be, just remember that whatever it is that I’ve become now, it’s yours to do as you please.”

  “I know who you are,” his bird whispered softly in return, her hand giving his huge one a tight squeeze. “And I love you for it.”

  Silence settled between them, the only sounds coming from Rickon, the direwolf and the smuggler inside the latter’s bedroom. Sandor and Sansa didn’t tear their gaze from the other’s, as the mutual knowledge of what they were about to do became a prominent thought in their minds, one which their eyes and expressions betrayed.

  _You’ll be my wife and my bird in every way now, and I’ll be your husband_. _Not your bloody betrothed’s guard, or your own sworn shield._ Not even her companion or her friend, but something much more meaningful than that. Something that would last forever if had say in the matter, and every man and woman be damned to seven hells if they didn’t fucking like it.

  A sudden knock startled them both, but Sandor quickly registered that the person knocking knew the secret code Davos had established. He was already standing up, drawing out his longsword, when Seaworth said, “It is Osha and your friend,” as he peered outside through the window. “They are back from the sept.”

  Feeling anger boil through his veins, Sandor spat, “Took them too bloody long.”

  He offered Sansa his hand to help her stand up. As they both walked into the living room, still holding hands, Osha entered the house followed by Hagen, with some bags under his arms.

  “Gods be good,” Sansa said in surprise, covering her mouth with her hand, stopping dead on her tracks. Sandor stared at Edar and cursed out loud, forgetting his anger momentarily. The former outlaw, who had dressed in black every single day for years in memory of his beloved wife, had entered the house clad all in white, from his new boots to the quiver attached to his back.

  “Oh, Hagen, what happened?” Sansa asked with concern, beside him. “Why are you dressed like that?”

  Sandor couldn’t take it anymore. He threw back his head and laughed right in the madman’s face, “What the fuck happened to you?”

  Sandor saw young Rickon looking at him with a frown, before deciding he found Edar’s clothes funny as well, and making Sandor nod at him approvingly. _He looks different with his hair cut. The little bird did a good job with him_. Rickon laughed, looking around the room at them all.

  The Onion didn’t seem to care why the Lorathi archer was now wearing white, but the wilding woman eyed the Lorathi with a sour smile for a moment, before saying, “ _I’ll_ tell you in a moment, m’lady. But it be best if you start getting ready for this wedding of yours now, if you are still meaning to go through with it. Won’t do you much good since they don’t have no old gods here in this place, but Lord Davos says it’ll be good enough for the southrons.”

  “Did you have any problems at the sept?” Sandor asked them, remembering that the little bird had asked the wilding to help her get ready for the wedding. “Why the hell did you take ages in returning?”

  Hagen shook his head. “None. There were but three people in the sept when we asked the septon if he could perform a marriage this afternoon. We told the old fool it was for me and Osha, but he didn’t seem quite convinced about marrying us once he realized that neither of us were really familiar with his gods or his faith.”

  “He can’t know who he is going to marry till it’s too late,” Davos said. “Now we must hasten if we are to go all the way to the Isle of the Gods before the sun sets.”

  The little bird and he certainly agreed. Sansa exchanged one last look with Sandor, betraying at long last the first signs of nervousness, before stepping inside Osha’s bedroom.

 

\--

 

  _This is my wedding day_ , Sansa thought dazedly for the hundredth time since this morning, still barely believing it. She only wished this could have been a day full of joy. It tore at her heart to remember the reasons behind their marrying today, in such haste. Now she only had her little brother with her, since Bran’s whereabouts were unknown to the world, and, if Arya was not the girl they had married to Ramsay Snow, then Sansa did not know where she might be.

  _No, there is still Sandor_ , she reminded herself. When it had seemed as if she had lost everyone she cared for in this world, he had proved to her yet again that she was not alone. _My big man_. Sansa fisted the fabric of her gown in silent protestation at the way fate had tricked her, even as she gathered that her mother wouldn’t want her to be sad on this day, despite everything. _I am marrying the man I love after all_.

  Her eyes fell on the cloaks she had sewn for Sandor and her with the direwolf of the Starks and the dogs of the Cleganes, lying beside her wedding gown on the bed. She stared at it intently. It was the dress in the colors of House Stark she had been intending to wear the day she was to be brought before her family, since there wasn’t the time or the coin to buy or have a new one made. Sansa vowed to herself then and there to make certain that her family’s memory was never forgotten once she had returned to Westeros.

  Sitting on the edge of Osha’s bed, Sansa stared at the wilding woman, Rickon and Shaggydog as they follow her into the small room. She lost herself in her thoughts for a brief moment, until her brother’s direwolf stalked over to her suddenly, and pressed his black muzzle against her. Sansa threw her arms around the tall wolf’s neck, trying to avoid his slobber from falling on her, as she whispered a question she had suspected more than once by now.

  “It was you I dreamed of being back in Lorath, wasn’t it?” she asked.

  Her eyes met Shaggydog’s green deep burning eyes. _I can’t explain it_ , she thought, remembering her dream. Though Sansa didn’t know _why_ she’d dreamed so vividly of being inside Shaggy’s skin, she could still recall how it felt to be the animal with vivid detail. The only explanation she could come up with was one right out of Old Nan’s tales.

  Sansa realized that Shaggy was giving her courage somehow. _I_ _am a wolf too. I am a Stark and a Tully, and though Lady may not be here, Shaggydog is. I can be brave._

  Her brother was exclaiming stubbornly that he wanted to stay with his sister. It took some explaining from her, some pointed looks, and a smack on the back of the head from Osha to make Rickon understand that he couldn’t stay with his sister as she got ready for her wedding.

  When they finally managed to make her little brother leave, Sansa sighed tiredly, rubbing her temples with her fingertips at how fiercely Rickon needed her. _He is going to be difficult to handle, but with this woman’s help I will try to raise him to be a good man._ Sansa wanted to believe that sweet Bran was still alive, but she would nonetheless try and teach Rickon how the rightful Lord of Winterfell should behave. _The heir to Father and Robb. I will be strong for him, Mother_ , _I promise_. _I will be strong for him and for_ _Sandor_ _and the children we will have one day_.

  The thought of having children with her big man made Sansa recall what was going to happen tonight after the marriage ceremony. _My wedding night._ She wouldn’t be a maiden for long now. _By nightfall I will be a young woman in truth, wedded and bedded_. The bedding had seemed wonderfully wicked to her when she was a girl, but Sandor and her weren’t going to have one.

  Yet the lack of one did not take away the excitement of the promise of what awaited her in a couple of hours with Sandor once they were alone again; the nights in Lorath exploring and pleasuring each other in their bedroom at The Ruins burned in her body and in her mind most fiercely. She couldn’t help herself. The mere thought of Sandor making love to her overwhelmed her even in these difficult moments. 

  But it was more than simply what they were finally going to do tonight that she was currently treasuring. It was the memory of the simple but honest conversation they’d had but moments ago, where they had both assured each other of their growing love. _How can being close to him make me feel so much better?_

She could not answer herself, but she knew that what she shared with Sandor was beautiful. Had she not learned about the loss of her family, she would have been certain than she was dreaming all of this. But life had taught her that such happiness came with a price.

Looking up at the wilding, her mind clearer and her heart full of purpose, Sansa said with full honesty, “Thank you for taking care of Rickon, Osha.”

  The wilding snorted and shrugged carelessly. “I’m fond of the little lordling. No need to thank me. He and Bran are good lads who didn’t deserve to suffer what they have. I would have gone on taking care of Rickon even if Shaggydog hadn’t found you.”

  “Still,” Sansa insisted. “The Starks will always be in your debt, Osha. If we survive the war and the winter, then I shall see to it personally that you are well rewarded for your services.”

  Osha looked down at her with something akin to pity in her dark eyes as she replied, “You forgot to mention the Others, summer child. We have to deal with them too.”

  Sansa opened her mouth to answer, but found that she couldn’t think of anything she could reply to that. _What does she mean?_

  “At least you’re kissed by fire,” the wilding woman said, nodding at Sansa’s hair. “You and your man both, which is lucky as all Free Folk know.”

  With a slight frown and a shake of the head, Sansa steered the conversation to less unfamiliar territory, and asked, “What has happened to Hagen? Why did he change his black clothes for white ones?”

  Osha grabbed Sansa’s brush from a nearby stool and started to brush her hair from behind her. “I think it’s my bloody fault. After we left that sept, I started taunting that smiley archer for dressing up like a crow, and then had to tell him what sort of crow I meant. Edar said that since you were grieving and Clegane didn’t have the patience, he was going to start pestering me about life in the North. So I did the best I could and told him of you Starks and of living beyond the Wall, of how bloody cold it can get. I told him of Winterfell and of the old gods, of the weirwoods and the giants, and everything I could think of right till we came upon that bank.”

  “What bank?” Sansa asked.

  “Hagen will have my head if he knows I told you.”

  “I won’t tell him you spoke of this,” Sansa promised.

  Osha arched her bushy eyebrow, studying her. “Not even to your husband?”

  “Not even to Sandor,” Sansa said, feeling butterflies on her tummy as she repeated Osha’s words on her mind. _My husband_.

  “Fair enough, then. Hagen and I went to this Iron Bank to get some gold, which he said had been sent from the bank in Lorath by his man, Amon.”

  “He went to collect gold from Amon in the Iron Bank?” Sansa repeated in wonder, wishing to understand Osha correctly. _Neither Sandor nor I knew anything of this._

  “Aye, he said he hadn’t wished to carry so much coin with him on the ship...”

  From what Sansa could make of the wilding’s hush whispers, it appeared that Amon, the Edars’ old servant, who had never married nor had fathered any children, had given Hagen the coin he had earned after a lifetime in their service. Since he was Amon’s favorite and didn’t have two coins to rub together in his name after what had happened to him in Norvos, the steward had decided to give the man he loved as a son his life’s savings.

  “He said this Amon was so old he told him he wouldn’t bet on living long enough to see him again, and ended up forcing the gold on him,” Osha finished. “He lent a deaf ear to Edar’s protests because all the coin would only serve to feed grave worms. Hagen told me that he wants to quietly pay for lodgings and such things discreetly, and that what he left on the bank will be used in helping you against the flayed men, the squids, the stags and the rest along the hard road ahead.”

  _Gods be good!_ Sansa was utterly surprised at the lengths Edar would take for her and Sandor due to his thoughtful and selfless nature. _The old gods and the new were smiling down upon us on the day Hagen’s path crossed with ours_. Sansa promised to herself she would try to make Sandor be less harsh upon the former outlaw, without revealing to her big man what the Lorathi archer had done, respecting his decision to keep his actions a secret.

  Afterwards, Osha pulled two braided strands of hair behind Sansa’s head to join them at the back, and curled her auburn hair until it fell down her back in soft ringlets. Sansa sighed, for she wished she could also have her nails trimmed as well. There was no need for her to take a bath now, though, for both Sandor and she had bathed as the other rested earlier today. Sansa remembered the way the steaming hot water had made her think of Winterfell and its hot pools. She had taken strength from that, and scrubbed herself until she glowed pink.

  Though her wedding gown was not made of a rich fabric, it was a lovely thing. It was ivory, and had silver trimmings. The points of the long dagged sleeves almost touched the ground when she lowered her arms. When Osha helped her into it, Sansa knew that the bodice at the front, slashed almost to her belly, would draw Sandor’s eyes all evening long, despite the deep vee covered over it with a panel of lace in dove grey. That thought gave her a funny feeling below her tummy. The skirts of the Lorathi gown were long and full, and her grey slippers hugged her feet like lovers. She would don her maiden’s white cloak with the fierce direwolf embroidered upon it until she reached the sept, for precaution.

  Her wedding gown was not difficult to lace up, but Osha had such wiry strong arms that when she helped her into the dress, Sansa had to hold her breath at the pressure the wilding inflicted upon her ribcage. Yet she could hardly complain. She would have wanted her lady mother to be here with her instead, or even Arya or Frema, or her septa, but Osha was better than being alone. 

  “You are beautiful, m’lady,” Osha told her, once Sansa was ready.

  Sansa smiled as she spun in the middle of the bedroom, her skirts swirling around her. She did not need to see herself in a mirror to _know_ that she looked beautiful and glowing, despite her grief.

  “Oh I _am_ ,” she said in awe, thinking that she could not wait for Sandor to see her like this. _I can’t believe this is finally happening. I am going to become Lady Clegane at last._

Osha opened the door for her after Sansa had taken a deep breath, the former wrapping the wedding cloaks into a bundle which she placed under her strong arm. Sansa thanked the wilding woman for her help, as she pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to draw some colour to her face, and walked outside the room, her head held high, beaming, allowing herself to be happy. 

 

\--

 

  Sandor stared at the little bird as she went inside Osha’s bedroom to get ready for the wedding, before he shook his head, and gulped and unclenched his hands. He turned to look at the smuggler and the archer, only to end up snorting again at the sight of Hagen Edar dressed all in white. _Unbelievable_.

  “So the crow has switched his black plumage for a white one, have the seasons changed so soon already?” he said, making fun of the Lorathi, as he went to pour himself a cup of the wine that tasted like horse piss.

  Edar smiled and explained, “It’s for camouflage. Osha said there are perpetual snows in the north, and white is invisible in the snow. I will be able to fight and attack with stealth in this way.”

  Sandor shook his head, amused against his will, grateful to Hagen for this distraction as he finished the wine cup, for if he had been left here to talk with Seaworth, then they would be talking about the war or the ship or who knew what else. And while Sandor wouldn’t have minded that any other day, his nerves were already strained enough for him to hear about all the shit that had been happening in Westeros. Seeing Sansa enter the bedroom to change into her wedding gown had robbed him of the peace talking with her given him moments ago.

  _This is bloody ridiculous_ , Sandor thought, as he poured himself another cup of wine to calm himself. He was feeling as nervous as any common green boy. _Not even at the start of a bloody battle or of a fucking fight do I feel this way_.

  “You will not be outside freezing your arse off in the snow,” Sandor reminded the little bird’s Sworn Arrow, once he had stopped his mind from wandering away down tonight’s road. “You’ll be inside a castle guarding Sansa... Bugger, Arthur Dayne must be turning in his grave at such a poor imitation of a Kingsguard.”

  “Who is Arthur Dayne? What is the Kingsguard?” the outlaw asked, completely at a loss.

  “A bunch of pathetic men appointed to defend the king,” Sandor rasped harshly in answer. “While I was one of them, it was full of toads with painted stripes that pretended to be tigers. They were cowards who did not hesitate to beat helpless young girls, taking as much delight in their suffering as the cunts they served.”

  He fell silent after that, but the Onion quickly started to explain to Edar that not all the knights of the Kingsguard had been so pathetic. Sandor didn’t care what Hagen or Seaworth thought.

  Fixing his gaze on the door that barred the room into which the little bird had disappeared, Sandor realized that he was almost shaking with fury, as he remembered the sight of Boros and Meryn striking Sansa with the edge of their swords, or tearing her gown in two in front of the whole useless court– himself included.

  At least now Joffrey, that little golden shit, was dead: poisoned by that imp of an uncle he’d hated so much. _And who helped in bringing an end to Gregor’s miserable existence along the way._ Sandor’s mouth began to twitch. If only he had been able to kill either his brother or Joffrey with his bare hands. To look them in the eyes as they left this world, and good riddance.

  “I am wearing the Stark colors,” Edar insisted, showing them his white cloak, trimmed with gray fur, which made Sandor remember the two white cloaks of his time in the Kingsguard he had given to Sansa long ago. “Not those of a Kingsguard.”

  _And now I am about to drape the cloak of House Clegane over her shoulders if nothing goes wrong_ , Sandor thought with a mixture of pride and disbelief. Now that they were going back to Westeros, there would be time enough to call some unpaid debts with the lions and all the rest, but for now he deemed it wise not to let the past dampen his spirits anymore.

  In that moment Sandor almost fell from his seat as he saw the door to the bedroom open, but it was only Rickon who was coming out, followed by Shaggydog, not his pretty bird. The wolf started pacing the living room, sniffing here and there, before sitting beside the table on his hind legs.

  “Osha is going to help Sansa change,” the boy informed them sullenly, as he moved to the table where they were all seating down.

  As Davos moved a chair for the little bird’s brother to take, Sandor turned to the madman and snarled, “If you ever sink in the snow, people will be able to locate you only because of that line of fur, you know.”

  Hagen shrugged. “I’m used to your dry humor by now, sour burned man. Make all the japes you want, but I am keeping the white outfit, and I will have a white bow too as soon as we reach this White Harbor, for I’ve heard that there are longbows that can be made of white wood, of a weirwood.”

  Shrugging, Sandor stood up and cleared his throat, “Do as you wish, I don’t care so long as you don’t make a bloody mess that affects Sansa.”

  After that, Edar and Seaworth began to talk to young Rickon, while Sandor began to brood silently, with a scowl on his face as he wondered why time had appeared to slow down so much since Sansa had entered the bedroom. _Why is she taking so long?_ He wanted to know, his heart beating fast; he stood up suddenly, and began to pace restlessly across the living room, once, twice, again and again and again, drawing curious glances from Hagen, Davos and Rickon. 

  _This would be a good moment to go to a training yard_ , Sandor gathered, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Putting his longsword to good use had always served to clear his mind. _Still, better to not use it than to have to meet and kill one of that bloody eunuch’s spies_.

  _Bugger it all_ , Sandor thought, running his hand through his hair as he strode over to the door of the bedroom Sansa was in. Just as he was about to knock, intending to ask his bird how much longer she was going to take, Osha the wilding opened the door herself to reveal the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  He stared down at Sansa with his mouth hanging open, blinking twice to make certain his eyes were not deceiving him, for even if there wasn’t a single day that went by in which the little bird didn’t look beautiful, right now, as she stood before him in her wedding dress, Sandor could only clear his throat, at an utter loss for words, for that dress set off her charms perfectly, to the point where she was irresistible to him.

  Sansa was looking up at him with the biggest smile he had ever seen, bright eyes, her face an open book that he alone could ever read when it looked like this. Sandor almost wished he could believe in the bloody gods just so he could have someone to thank for this, for her, for this opportunity that had been given to him when he least expected it.

  _I would never have believed in a hundred years when we first fled King’s Landing that we would end this journey as man and wife_. The little bird who had once been too frightened to look him straight in the face now loved him in return to distraction. _She deserves a pretty life_. Sandor would strive every day of his life to make sure all of her days were worth it.  _To never make her regret marrying me_.

  He let his eyes travel from her face down her body, taking in the way her gown revealed her full breasts and her curves, a sight that only served to make his cock go hard inside his breeches, the only part of him that seemed able to react at once.

  The little bird blushed and lowered her gaze, a small tempting smile on her face. Sandor cleared his throat and placed his hand under her chin, in. “Look at me.”

  Sansa raised her head, her eyes meeting his own at once, while his hand left her chin only to rest on her neck.

  “You’re so beautiful, little bird,” he growled, taking a step closer to her, grinning.

  Her dimples appeared as she replied in a soft voice, “Thank you, Sandor.”

  The little bird certainly looked pleased at the way his eyes were completely taking in every detail the sight of her had to offer. Sandor’s eagerness to get married as soon as possible was not forgotten, but right now he was having trouble remembering _anything_.

  Sansa and he couldn’t take their eyes off each other, and those blue eyes and full mouth were distraction enough for any hot blooded man. _Fuck, I am grinning like a bloody fool, from ear to ear._ Not that his bird minded the way his burned features twisted and stretched at that, though.

  _It all comes to this. To the moments ahead, and to tonight when we are back at the inn, finally alone_. The long journey he and the little bird had lived since they had left the Red Keep behind them flashed across Sandor’s mind. Now he was going to spend the rest of his life beside the little bird as her husband, making her happy, keeping her safe, and loving her with every fucking breath.

  His musings were interrupted soon though, when Osha stepping beside Sansa, saying, “Thought we were supposed to be hurrying?”

  Edar snorted at that, but Sandor ignored him. He took hold of the little bird’s hands, gulping and grinning. When they both finally returned their attention to the others, the Onion Knight took the chance to pay his compliments to Sansa, before going to help young Rickon, clasping an old small traveler’s cloak around his shoulder.

  “You look nice, Sansa,” Rickon called to his sister from across the room, making the bird beam at the young lad. The Lorathi then stepped forward towards the little bird, as he adjusted the strands of his bow attached at his back, and said, “No need to tell you how lovely you look.”

  “Thank you, Hagen,” Sansa replied, still smiling, gazing up at Sandor even as Edar offered her his arm. The archer and her still had to pretend to be man and wife while they walked the streets of Braavos.

  Osha managed to coax the direwolf out of the house into the garden sooner than Sandor would have believed, and locked Shaggy outside, while Sansa, Rickon and Hagen walked out of the shack by the front door. Rickon had not been happy at the thought of leaving Shaggydog alone, not even after he was threatened by Osha to be left alone in the house did he relent to leaving his direwolf behind.  Only after Sansa had promised him that as soon as her wedding was done, he and Osha could return to the small house did he agree.

  Sandor quickly donned his own traveler’s cloak, pulling his hood up to hide his burned features as best he could, while the Onion made sure to check that the windows of the house were locked. When he finally stepped outside, Sandor noticed for the first time that that the day was crisp and clear and bright, a small mercy, for Braavos only had three kinds of weather, according to Osha and Seaworth; fog, which was bad, rain which was worse, and freezing rain which was _the_ worst. But every so often would come a morning when the dawn broke pink and blue and the air was sharp and salty; this had turned out to be such a day.

  Rickon and Sansa where talking, Sandor saw. Her brother had grabbed the bird’s hand, and was asking, “Sansa, are you going to marry Sandor again when we go home? When Mother and Robb and Bran and Arya and Jon are home?”

  Sandor knew the little bird too well by now to not read the expressions behind her composed mask. _It hurts her to lie, but she will do it as long as it avoids giving the boy the pain of learning the truth_. _But he must be told the truth one day about everything, and if Sansa is the one to tell him, then I will be there to lend a hand in any way I can_.

  She nodded and answered, “Yes. As soon as we reach the north we will seek a heart tree and say our vows to the old gods, Rickon.”

  “There is a godswood in Winterfell,” Rickon pointed out.

  “I know,” Sansa sighed. “But I am intending to marry in the first godswood we reach, darling. We can’t wait till we reach Winterfell.”

  “I played with Lord of the Crossing with the Walders in there, and me and Bran, Jojen and Meera, Osha and Hodor left Maester Luwin beside the hot pool.”

  Sansa turned to look at the wilding woman, as she said, “Aye, we left him to rest there. I gave the master the gift.”

  “Oh,” Sandor heard Sansa whispered, before striding over to her side, and placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. He knew what sort of gift the wilding meant, and he had little doubt in his mind that Sansa had not failed to understand the other woman’s true meaning.

  When his little bird turned her neck around to look at him, Sandor found himself remembering the day in the Kingswood when he had shown her how to give the gift of mercy to a man. _There will be_ _many ghosts to return to_.

  “We will visit the godswood together soon, Rickon,” Sansa promised the boy, cupping his face. “And we will thank Father’s gods for bringing us together again and for Sandor as well, for he is going to be the one to look after us both from now on.”

  Feeling pleased at the bird’s words, Sandor nonetheless couldn’t help but snort in amusement as he heard Sansa’s reply when Rickon asked her if he was a good fighter.

  “Yes,” Sansa assured Rickon with a smile. “He is the fiercest warrior in the world, and he has kept me safe for months and months. I would be lost without him.”

  “He can fight well with a sword?” Rickon asked, wrinkling his brow and nose in concentration.

  Nodding, Sansa chirped proudly, “Oh, yes, he is, and I am sure that if you ask him, he would teach you how to fight with one until you are as good as him.”

  _Aye, I’ll help the boy_ , Sandor thought, smiling as he stared at Sansa talking to her younger brother for some reason, glad to allow himself the possibility of picturing a future after the war was over where Rickon was a grown man, and he one of his most trusted bannermen. And it would be good to have his liege lord or king approve of him for a good brother, young as the boy was.

  “I’ll ask him to teach me,” Rickon was saying enthusiastically. “So when I’m big I will be as good as Father and Robb and Jon and beat them all!”

  Sansa kissed her brother’s forehead at that, pinching his cheek gently, nodding in approval. “You will make us all proud.”

  They made their way through the twisted maze that were the streets of the Secret City, walking over bridges and across canals until they reached the Isle of the Gods. This part of Braavos was rightly named, Sandor gathered, for there were more than twenty buildings, all belonging to different gods from all over the world.

  He spied a mighty mass of snow-white marble topped by a huge silver dome whose milk glass windows showed all the phases of the moon, and from which clear music could be heard. A pair of tall marble maidens flanked its gates, supporting a crescent-shaped lintel. There was also a huge brick structure festooned with lichen, which The Onion told them was called The Holy Refuge or The Warren, where Braavosi honored the small gods the world had forgotten.

  When they passed by the red stone temple that had a fire blazing in an iron brazier at its great square tower, as well as smaller fires flanking its brazen doors, the sodding smuggler didn’t have to tell them which god was adored in there. Memories of R’hllor, which Arman Nervere had worshiped so fervently, crossed Sandor’s mind, but he forced those recollections of his time in Great Norvos away. He would have grabbed Sansa’s hand when she turned around to look at him for reassurance, as he glared at the temple with hatred in his eyes and belly, but the little bird was still holding on to Hagen Edar’s arm.

  _We are not done with that bloody god yet_ , Sansa reminded himself in sullen resignation, aware that he was the god Stannis stupidly believed in, to the point of burning men alive if the rumours were true- which Sandor did not doubt. Davos had told him and Sansa that he followed the Seven still, unlike the Queen’s knights, that worshiped the god of Stannis Baratheon’s red woman, Melisandre of Asshai.

  They quickly left that damnable temple behind, and after walking on the right bank of a small canal that ran between two buildings as tall as the warehouses in Lorath, their little party came upon the Sept-beyond-the-sea.

  _It is just as big as the royal sept in Maegor’s_ , Sandor thought, just as his bird gulped and turned to look at him again. She disentangled her arm from Hagen’s, and walked over to stand beside him.

  “Ready for this, little bird?” he heard himself asking Sansa, grinning like the fool in love that he was, trying to keep his hands steady.

 The little bird nodded determinedly. “Yes.” She brought her hand to grip his arm, as if seeking to draw some secret strength from him.

  So far Sansa had been the composed little lady he knew her to be, but the sight of the sept was affecting her to the point where little cracks that only he could see were appearing in the armour she had donned since yesterday. _We can only open up with each other_ , he thought, taking her small hand in his own, recalling a time when Sansa had tried to chirp her pretty lies at him, making him angry, and thinking he could see right through her _. How wrong I used to be about her and so much else._

  “I’ll go inside and look for the septon,” Hagen said, offering Osha his arm. “And I’ll inform him that there has been a change in plan in regard to who is actually going to get married today.”

  Davos Seaworth nodded and turned to look at Sansa, saying in a low voice after he had gazed around him in caution. “My lady, since your brother is too young, Edar doesn’t believe in the Seven, and I am King Stannis’ Hand, I think it best for me to take your father’s place.”

  “I agree, my lord,” Sansa replied. “I would be honoured if you gave me away. We will never forget the kindness you are doing to us in agreeing to be our witness.”

  The Onion Knight’s hand moved upwards, as if to touch something near his neck, but finding nothing. Hagen Edar opened the door of the rather small sept, stepping aside with Osha so that an old lady with a crooked back could step outside the building into the street. The archer and the wilding disappeared inside, leaving Seaworth, Rickon, Sansa and Sandor standing outside, waiting.

  There was nothing left for them but to wait, though they did need to that for long. Less than a quarter of an hour later, one in which Sandor and Sansa had done nothing but steal quick glances at the other, Sansa hiding her smiles even as she blushed, and Sandor grinning wickedly down at her, while they touched and told the other in hush voices how happy they were and how much they loved each other, Osha suddenly appeared at the sept’s entrance, and, addressing Sandor, said, “Byan, the septon says he is almost ready. Little lordling, come inside as well,” Osha told Rickon.

  “You’re coming too, Sansa?” her brother asked her, taking a hesitant step towards the wilding.

  “Of course I am,” Sansa assured him. “I wouldn’t miss my wedding for the world.”

  Sandor gave a short nod, and cleared his throat as he growled, “I’ll see you in a moment, little bird.”

  He strode over to the steps, climbed them and entered the sept, turning around quickly to look at the little bird one last time, for the next time he left this place they would be married. The Onion had walked up to stand beside her, and was telling her something that made her smile and nod her pretty head at the smuggler.

  Once the sept’s doors were closed behind him, and Sandor’s eyes had quickly registered that there was indeed no one in the temple but them, he relaxed the grip he had on the pommel of his sword. The septon, a man old enough to be on age with his father, was making his way towards him, Osha and Rickon, with Edar by his side.

  “I see. So this man here is the one who will be marrying this woman?” the holy man said, staring openly at Sandor’s face and height with fright, his small eyes settling quickly on Osha once Sandor scowled at him.

  “Yes, he is the one getting married, but I am not the wife,” the wilding woman replied, instructing with a jerk of her head at Hagen for him to take Rickon by the hand. The boy and the Lorathi walked over to the front row of the benches, their excited voices echoing in the cavernous roof, followed by the septon.

  “Here is your cloak,” the wilding told Sandor, handing him the cloak Sansa had sewn in the colours of House Clegane. He looked at it with interest, grinning at the sight of the little bird’s embroidery, remembering the times when he had stared at her sewing this. Sansa had done a fine job with the cloak. _No wonder there, though._ _Everything she does is always bloody perfect_.

  Sandor clasped the cloak about his neck, gulping, feeling his heart at his throat as he pictured the moment when he was going to put it around the little bird’s shoulders. He cursed under his breath as he strode down the aisle, taking in small even breaths.

  Edar stepped beside him, while young Rickon was fidgeting on his seat on the other side of the aisle, looking at the closed door of the sept. The old septon settled himself on the small dais between the altars of the Mother and the Father, coughing; clearly still unaware of whom exactly he was going to be joining together in marriage.

  Sandor’s eyes travelled around the room registering every crook and crevice and corner. His gaze fell on the decorations around him as he waited, noticing the way the shaft of rainbow-colored sunlight slanted through the crystal in the high windows, while candles burned bright below the altars of the seven gods. The air was heavy with the scent of incense.

  Some moments later, the doors to the sept opened at last. As Sansa and her companion passed through the threshold of the sept, Sandor couldn’t stop his heart from beating wildly inside his chest with excitement, his eyes sweeping swiftly toward her at the sight of Sansa entering through the threshold of the sept on the arm of the Onion Knight.

  They stopped but a moment at the entrance, long enough for Osha to clasp the cloak of House Stark about Sansa’s neck, and then in the blink of an eye she was finally walking over to him. Sandor barely saw Osha quickly making her way to Rickon’s side out of the corner of his eyes, in awe even now. For the one thing he’d ever truly cared about was her, and now Sansa, this beautiful graceful woman, was walking towards him was _his_ , and actually _loved_ him.

  Sansa may have been grieving the loss of her family since yesterday, but in those moments as she walked down the aisle, Sandor was struck by the manner in which her beaming face lit up as brilliantly as the sun itself, making his knees go weak. _Bugger, she looks so fucking beautiful._ It almost seemed obscene that such beauty wanted to be bound to someone like him. Yet knowing that she was happy with him really did change everything.

  Sandor gulped nervously. But it when the little bird finally reached him, and looked up at him, mouthing, “I love you,” Sandor’s troubled heart finally found the familiar peace being with Sansa had made him discover.

  It almost seemed as if every single thing that had happened in his life had been worth it, because this was the outcome somehow. He standing at the end of the altar with his precious little bird walking over to him with the biggest smile he had ever seen. She was all that had ever mattered. She was worth everything. She was his world, his life.

  Sandor was simply grateful, certain that what he and Sansa had was real and solid and strong. _It will never break_.

  He stopped his musings once she had reached him and simply concentrated on looking at her, at times having difficulty _believing_ that the little bird was here beside him, really wishing to join her life to his forever.

  Both Sandor and Sansa were brought back to the present when the septon cleared his throat before asking in incredulity if they were truly the two that wished to be married. Sandor had glared at the fucking old fool at that, ready to bugger him to seven hells, but the little bird had quickly nodded, trying to avoid causing a scene.

  “Let us begin, then,” the septon finally said, before calling upon the non-existent gods to be witness of the union that was about to take place. “Who comes now to be joined in marriage?”

    Sandor replied at once with the strong rasp of his voice, “Sandor of House Clegane, son of Ser Haldor and Lady Arwyn.”

  It seemed that the surname Clegane didn’t sound familiar to the septon, for he only nodded and turned to look at Sansa. The little bird cleared her throat before saying in a clear loud voice, “Sansa of House Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn.”

  Once the bloody septon had recovered himself from the sodding surprise of learning of their true identities, there were prayers and vows and signing, as well as seven vows to be made, seven blessings to be invoked, and seven promises to be exchanged.

  Sandor hated himself for realizing that he remembered the prayers and holy songs he’d been taught as a child, but since he was considering his wedding to his little bird something sacred, apart from the mockery he knew was the bloody Faith, he didn’t mind it so buggeringly much.

  Despite his skepticism, Sandor would have liked to enjoy the ceremony. But he was busy in wishing the damnable septon would hurry up, in case someone suddenly came bursting through the door. It really was a fucking wonder how he ever managed to reply whenever the septon indicated.

  The wedding song was sung, and the challenge, which made Sandor realize that at one point he had reached out for Sansa’s hand, since he was clutching a it almost painfully, made his heart stand still. But the challenge went mercifully unanswered, making Sansa and Sandor let out a small sigh of relief at the same time. And then, at long last, it was time for the cloak exchange.

  Sandor looked on as Davos swept away Sansa’s maiden’s cloak, and unclasped the one about his shoulders, thinking that his jaw was actually starting to hurt him after smiling so much for so long. But he didn’t care. After the little bird had exchanged a quick glance with the Onion Knight, and nodded her thanks to him, she took a deep breath and met his eyes again with her Tully blue ones. Sandor strode over to stand behind Sansa before he swept the cloak of his protection over her shoulders, holding his breath as he did so.

  When he leaned forward to fasten the clasp, Sansa smiled at him lovingly and allowed him to kiss her cheek. Sandor took a moment to admire the sight of Sansa in the cloak of his house once he had straightened forward, noticing that his bird’s eyes were finally beginning to shine bright with tears of happiness.

  “With this kiss,” Sandor rasped, moved by the sight of Sansa looking up at him with so much love. “I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife. I am yours, and you are mine, from this day until the end of my days.”

  “With this kiss,” Sansa repeated in a trembling voice, “I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband. I am yours, and you are mine, from this day until the end of my days.”

    _His_ little bird stood on tiptoes as Sandor cupped her face in both his hands, and kissed her deeply, while she threw her arms around his neck. Both were too happy in that moment to do anything but cling to each other, pulled the other closer, as if their lives depended on it.

  When they drew apart, their foreheads resting against the other, chuckling and grinning widely as they realized what that had finally just become, the septon raised his crystal high in front of them, its rainbow’s light falling down upon them, as he proclaimed, “Here in the sight of gods and men, I do solemnly seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity, proclaiming Sandor of House Clegane and Sansa of House Stark to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one that comes between them.”

  When the old man was done, Sandor and Sansa stared at each other in awe, desire burning deep within Sandor. A voice inside Sandor’s head whispered, _It’s done. It’s happened. You two are finally married now_. Before he had even finished that thought though, Sandor grunted pleasantly and deeply as the little bird jumped into his waiting arms with a cry of joy. _She is Sansa Clegane now. She is my wife._

  He tried not to press her against him too tightly because of the chain mail shirt underneath his shirt, but it was hard. Sandor placed his hand on Sansa’s waist, and the other one her neck before bending down, his eyes never leaving hers. Their lips met, and then all was lost. Forgetting everyone around them, Sansa returned Sandor’s hot, eager and loving kiss with all her might, not holding back any emotion as their tongues darted inside the other’s mouth, kissing to the point where they drew a pointed cough from the old septon, and laughs from the others around them, clapping in congratulations.

  In between his kisses, Sandor’s rasped in a low and moved voice, his arms holding her so tightly she was certain her gown had split up, “I love you, Sansa.”

  “And I you, Sandor,” she answered, overwhelmed, as he kissed the tears that were blurring her vision from her cheeks.

  Sandor snarled in a voice that dripped lust, “You’re mine now, my little precious bird.”

  Burying her face in his neck as he gave her a hug that lifted her off her feet, “I’ve been yours for a long time.”

  Both were smiling as they kissed again, and Sandor was struck with the powerful strength this simple ceremony had on him. They hugged each other one last time before Sandor settled his little wife back on the ground, feeling complete and whole and simply happy. He was still holding her hands when Hagen Edar suddenly went to one knee before his little bird, laying his quiver, arrow, and daggers at her feet.

  “Lady Sansa,” the former outlaw said, his head bent down in respect. “I wish to swear my fealty to you as my liege lady from this moment until the day I die as your new sworn shield… or rather as your sworn arrow, as your husband has started to call me behind your back. I will serve you, my lady, if you would have me.”

  Sandor couldn’t help but grin and laughed at the way Sansa reacted, for it was exactly what he had been expecting. The little bird, clearly startled, stared open-mouthed at the Lorathi, blinking, taken by complete surprise.

  She turned to look up at Sandor, who, regarding Hagen with a measuring look, finally nodded and snarled truthfully, “I don’t want any random northman we do not know or trust to guard you, little bird. I can’t be your husband and your sworn shield both, Sansa, so I figured Edar was better than no one.”

  Everyone was watching the little bird, awaiting her answer. When she at long last looked at Edar, she asked him, “Are you completely sure about this? We take such matters with great importance back home.”

  Hagen never broke her stare as he replied in a serious tone, “More than anything, my lady.”

  “You know war awaits us, little bird, and on more than one front,” Sandor added. “I will be one of your army commanders in the Stark forces if you’ll have me, for the northern lords won’t. They won’t trust me because of whom I bloody was, and will only obey me because you say so. Hagen can be my second in command. I know he is mad, but that doesn’t make him stupid. He knows how to lead men well, as his past life can attest.”

  The Lorathi nodded solemnly. “Aye, I’ll fight and save some lives and kill these Others that Osha spoke of, among many other things.”

  Sansa’s eyes fell on young Rickon, who had been staring at the whole ceremony with eyes in front of the wilding woman, who had her hand on his little shoulder. _Osha is Rickon’s sworn shield in a way_ , Sandor gathered.

  It was fucking unbelievable, but this service by Hagen was reinforcing on Sandor that Sansa may still stand a chance as Rickon’s regent, and Lady of Winterfell until the boy came of age in around ten years or so, for the sight of her now was that of a queen.

  “Very well, Edar,” Sansa said at last, agreeing. “I accept to be your liege lady.”

  “To Sansa of House Stark alone do I pledge my faith,” Hagen Edar vowed.  Osha had offered to help Hagen Edar with memorizing the northern vows, since both Sandor and the Onion were more familiar with southron customs.

  “I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be,” the Lorathi continued. “My longbow and daggers are yours to command, for I yield them up to you, my lady. May I never fail you. I swear this by my wife’s memory, which has been the one worthwhile belief I have valued in this life. I swear it too by earth and water. I swear it by bronze and iron. I swear it by ice and fire.”

  Sandor watched with pride as Sansa stepped in front of her new guard, clasping his hands between her own, smiling. “And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise, Hagen Edar.”

  She raised him by his hand, accepting Edar’s vows of allegiance to her until death claimed one of them. Hagen bowed his head at her in respect, gathered his weapons, and stepped beside the smuggler quietly, drawing approving nods from Osha and Rickon.

  The septon that had married them had been staring open mouthed at them all, and almost pissed on his robes in surprise as Davos suddenly addressed him.

  “Shouldn’t the witnesses sign the papers now?”

  “The papers? Oh yes, the papers. Please, may the witnesses be kind enough to step forward,” the old bloody septon said, shaking his dazed head.

  Osha, Edar and Seaworth walked over towards the dais, even as the latter continued talking to the old holy man.

  “My friend here is considering becoming a believer of the Seven,” Davos informed the septon. “I was wondering if you couldn’t help me convince him right now that it would be the best course for him to take.”

  Sandor didn’t care if the septon believed that stupid sodding story or not, for he was bound by office to accept it. They had all planned what they where they going to do once the ceremony was over. Edar and Seaworth would keep an eye on the septon for as long as possible, making sure that the man could not go running to inform someone about what had just happened- a notion which Sandor agreed with wholeheartedly. He didn’t fancy one fucking bit getting interrupted tonight in order to flee from the Secret City at any moment. Meanwhile, Osha and Rickon would return to the shack, to keep an eye on Shaggydog, as much as to hide from any prying eyes.

  Wondering briefly if all of this had truly just happened, Sandor turned towards his wife eagerly, grinning broadly, looking at her stare at their witnesses sign the wedding papers. Sansa felt his burning gaze on her quickly enough, and turned around to gaze at him with wide open eyes. She stared at him for a moment with happiness and love written clearly upon her face, making him wonder if he looked the same as she did right now. _I probably do_.

  When the little bird blushed and lowered her gaze, Sandor grabbed her by the waist suddenly, and pulled her lightly apart from the others. He could sense that she was as excited and nervous as he was as he leaned down to rasp low and deep in her ear, “Come, my pretty little wife. It’s time for our bedding.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter :D Please let me know. Reviews are more than welcome. Thank you for reading!!


	39. How Fragile is the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimers  
> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> * My thanks as always go to the great onborrowedwings & nysandra for their help with the chapter!  
> *Also, to my dearest friend Luvxena, you know how much I owe you for your help in this chapter! Thank you and *Hugs* :)  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.
> 
> *Warning: This chapter has explicit (yet consensual) content, thus the rating goes up for it. So yeah… you’ve been warned beforehand ;’)

  Sansa was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the beeswax candle burning on the bedside table, waiting for Sandor. _Waiting for my husband_. Gods, these words were so hard to believe, even after their wedding ceremony. She couldn’t stop thinking of Sandor as anything but her husband, hoping that maybe this way the truth of their new reality would finally sink in.

  Sandor had left her to briefly check on Stranger and Nan, and to make sure he didn’t see anyone suspicious lurking around at _The Inn of the Green Eel_. Sansa didn’t know what to do with herself from the moment her big man had left her. She had gone to stare for a long moment at the parchment the septon had given them, which confirmed that their marriage had indeed happened and was legitimate. It bore the signatures of Lord Davos, Hagen Edar and a cross that represented Osha the wildling’s mark.

  Sansa had even unlaced the back of her wedding gown when she gathered that she didn’t want it to be ripped off of her in their haste and eagerness once her husband was back. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the laces and the buttons at the back of her dress, then she hugged herself and paced across the bedroom floor, gulping nervously, and walked over to sit on the bed, losing herself once again in the memories of their wedding. Of the songs, the promises, the cloaks and kisses that had been exchanged; how they had all bound her and Sandor together and forever in marriage in sight of the Seven.

  When Sansa was a little girl she had dreamed of her wedding a thousand times, so it was no wonder that when the septon had at long last proclaimed her and Sandor joined together in marriage, she had been overwhelmed. Even now it was difficult to keep herself from smiling as she recalled the way Sandor had looked throughout the whole ceremony, and humming a songto herself.

  Sansa could not so easily forget the losses she and little Rickon had suffered, but it would have been impossible for her not to feel happiness beyond what words could ever express as Sandor pledged his love for her, everything they had lived through together in the past months rushing through her mind. It gave their wedding a beautiful meaning Sansa would never have imagined possible, for there was nothing between her big man and her now but the most sincere and purest love, of the sort that could endure and survive any sort of tribulations.

  _He is my home_ , Sansa told herself, realizing that she wasn’t scared about what was about to happen between them, though she _was_ nervous. Her gaze swept around the room, thinking it odd that rather than feeling hatred towards this chamber–the place where only yesterday she had given herself over to grief–she was actually finding it a comforting space.

  It was barely an hour after dusk, but the Secret City was already quickly getting dark. The roaring fire and the few candles kept the night’s chill and the shadows away, though. Sansa reached out for her little wooden figures of the gods, the carved Warrior and Maiden that had accompanied her and her big man ever since Pentos, and brought them to her lips, kissing them once.

  “Thank you for allowing us this,” she whispered to the gods, her mouth moving above the wood. “For sending Sandor to me on the night the Blackwater burned.”

  Now all that she could hope for was that they had a lifetime to enjoy this new bond. A few moments later, as Sansa ran her fingers through her curls absentmindedly, Sandor finally returned.

  Her husband knocked the secret code they had established between them, calling to her to open up. With her heart beating quickly, Sansa made for the door, looking for a moment at her reflection in the mirror of the room, happy to see that she looked as beautiful as earlier in the day, when she’d first donned her wedding gown in the colors of House Stark. She unlocked the door, letting her big man in, stepping beside the door.

  “Is everything all right?” Sandor asked her in his rough voice, looking around the room before settling his grey gaze on her.

  Sansa gazed up at him through her long eyelashes, and blushed as she answered, “Yes. You?”

  “The horses are fine, and I don’t think we are being followed,” he grinned down at her.

  Sandor was dressed plainly, wearing an old yet clean set of breeches, his tunic and his mail. Both their wedding cloaks had been left behind with Osha, who had taken them as well as Sansa’s brother back to the small house by Ragman’s Harbor.

  He barred the door, staring at her like a hawk might a little bird, both very aware of what was about to happen, causing an awkward silence to descend between them. But it only lasted for a few heartbeats, for Sandor snorted at their behavior and wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her close to him. Sansa leaned into him as he stroked her back, hearing the strong beat of his heart as she pressed her cheek on his chest.

  When he kissed the top of her head, Sansa’s eyes fell on the two wooden cups and the flagon of wine sitting on the surface of the sideboard.

  “I missed you, little bird,” Sandor growled, his breath hot in her ear as he brought his burned mouth to kiss her forehead and her cheek.

  “Me too,” she admitted, hugging him tighter. “Would… would you like some wine?”

  Shrugging and tucking a strand of her hair away from her face, he said, “Sure, if you like.”

  She stepped away from him and made her way to the sideboard, filling a wooden goblet for each of them. She handed Sandor his cup, and smiled at him before draining her cup in three long swallows, her eyes never leaving his face. He reached out to hold her hand while he drank his own wine. Sansa was more aware of her big man’s eyes on her than she was on serving herself a second cup of wine until Sandor chuckled, a sour sound, part chuckle, part a snarl.

  “I wouldn’t drink too much if I were you, little bird,” he told her, giving her hand a squeeze. “You can’t hold your wine.”

  Sansa laughed at those words. “You’re one to talk. Do you remember Great Norvos?”

  Laughing with her, Sandor replied roughly, “Buggering hells, Sansa, I do remember, but that’s the only time I ever got roaring drunk. Do _you_ remember the first time you drank too much wine in Pentos, little wife? Or the visits to the taverns with Frema and Vintos, _or_ that inn in Lorath when you made me dance with you?”

  Sansa smiled. She had often daydreamed of how she would dance at her wedding, with every eye upon her and her handsome lord.

  “Sandor, first, I–I didn’t drink so much on those occasions, and secondly, are you really _telling_ me not to drink too much?” she teased, taking another swallow of the wine just to provoke him further as his hand pulled her close to him. “Gods be good, what is the world coming to?”

  “Bugger me if I know, little bird, but I’ll be damned if I start complaining about how things are turning out between us,” Sandor replied, laughing.

  When Sansa’s chuckles died away, she looked around the room and walked over to the open window, taking a deep breath. She stood on the spot where moonlight was spilling across the wooden floor, still holding the wooden cup in her hand, with her back to the man who had become so very dear to her.

  She swirled the wine around in her cup while her eyes were closed as she recalled the past, wondering at the way things had indeed turned out between them. Hearing the sound of her husband pulling off his boots, and the rustle of clothing as he undressed himself and unbuckled his swordbelt while the cold night air caressed her cheeks, a familiar warm funny feeling settled below her tummy as the tension between them increased. Reacting to the sounds of Sandor’s boots hitting the floor, and of his swordbelt being placed on the bed’s head post, fear and excitement clashed to win her over, _feeling_ Sandor’s eyes upon her all the while.

  Sansa tried to listen instead to the wind howling outside, or to the sounds coming from the streets of Braavos, even to the crackling of the fire. _Anything not to let the sound of my beating heart distract_ _me_. The night was so cold, too cold. Maybe that was why she was able to feel the warmth of Sandor’s body when he strode over to stand behind her as she barred the window, shutting the world away for this night. Her husband began to massage her shoulders in soothing movements, easing the tension away.

  “Are you all right?” Sandor asked her with concern in his rasping voice, placing his chin on her shoulder as he brought his strong arms around her, wrapping her in a powerful embrace. She gulped in awareness that he was no longer wearing his tunic.

  Sansa stared down at the cup in her hands. “Yes, darling.”

  “What is it, Sansa?” he insisted, not one bit persuaded, pressing her closer to him.

  “Nothing,” she said, as her tummy tightened into a knot.

  “Tell me, little bird.”

  “It’s just that I was thinking about something Lord Davos told me as we waited outside the sept once everyone had gone inside.”

  Stiffening behind her, her big man snarled, “And what did that stinking Onion have to say?”

  “He told me what you said to him about me yesterday,” Sansa confessed, running her hands across Sandor’s forearms. “He said that you truly _do_ know me, for you had seemed so certain that by today I would be able to lift my head up high, ready to go back to Westeros at once. He told me that he was glad to see I had the courage to survive.”

  Sansa had stood speechless as Lord Seaworth told her about the length Sandor had gone to defend her to him, a memory that made her reflect upon the words of her family. _Winter is coming. If what I am doing right now is surviving_ , Sansa thought _, then it is surely because of Sandor that I find the strength to do so_.

  Sandor had never missed an opportunity to tell her how awful he believed the world to be since she first met him, and yet Sansa knew that her big man could not bear to have its cruelty touch her in any way if he could help it. And he had behaved like this ever since their time in the Red Keep. _He told me he hated liars again and again, and yet lied on my behalf more than once, and encouraged me to lie if I wanted to survive Joffrey_. She could never doubt his love now, nor that he would ever fail in keeping her safe and protected.

  “My strong she-wolf,” Sandor whispered behind her, kissing her neck and making her lean against his comforting hard chest while she trembled slightly. It only served to make him embrace her ever closer, a gesture she found reassuring.

  “Do you know how lucky we are?” Sansa heard herself ask out loud. “People usually end up marrying someone who either loves them more than they do them, or less, but _we_ both truly love each other.”

  “Aye, little bird,” her big man growled behind her in his rough voice. “And that’s not something I’m likely to ever forget.”

  She suddenly felt Sandor’s hard manhood pressing against the small of her back, sending a ripple of arousal coursing through her body, and she whimpered slightly. Closing her eyes, she dropped her wine cup to the floor. She felt Sandor shudder while he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He always seemed to know how to touch her, for his every movement and his every caress felt just _right_.

  Sansa leaned the side of her head on Sandor’s as he asked her, “Do you remember our first night in Pentos? When we first arrived in Essos?”

  Smiling, Sansa nodded and ran her hands alongside the length of Sandor’s arms again, entwining her hands in his huge ones. “I remember.”

  I _was no longer scared of you by then. I wanted you to kiss me_ , Sansa recalled. _I think I may have even started falling in love with you since that_ _night, so long ago_.

  “It was the first time I sang Florian and Jonquil to you, big man,” she continued.

  Sandor laughed at that for some reason. “Aye, it was. Time flew by so damned quickly, didn’t it?”

  She knew what he meant. By dawn they would be sailing for Westeros, leaving the East behind them, possibly forever. 

  “This is the last night of our journey, my beautiful little bird,” Sandor told her. 

  “No,” Sansa heard herself reply in a strong and steady voice, turning around so that she could face him, determined to find happiness tonight with the man she loved, joy to distract her if even for the briefest of moments from her grief. _I will only ever be able to trust him with my secrets. Only allow my true self to show around him. Maybe tonight shouldn’t be any different._ If there was anyone who could help her cope with the pain, whom she could show her vulnerability to and lose herself in, it was him.

  Looking up at Sandor and raising her hand to cup his burned cheek, a gesture which he had long ago stopped shying away from, Sansa went on. “No, Sandor. This is our first night together.”

  Sandor, her lord and her husband, grinned at her words, a glint appearing in his grey eyes that transformed him into the most handsome man in the world to her. Allowing her eyes to drink in the sight of her husband, at _all_ of him, Sansa looked to her heart’s content, letting her gaze roam over Sandor’s hard body, and at the way the firelight and gathering darkness played shadows across his skin and long limbs. _He has the body of_ _the Warrior made flesh_. It was there for her to see, on his heavily muscled chest, arms, torso, and the wide expanse of his shoulder blades. Even across his jaw.

  He had the finest wide chest, covered in smooth dark hairs that trailed down the hard defined muscles of his stomach. _He is so strong, and he’s all mine_. His magnificently muscled torso made Sansa lick her lips while her eyes returned to meet Sandor’s, who had been holding his breath with an approving grin upon his face as he looked down at her, watching her hungrily.

  She took in the fine details of his gaunt face in a way she had never done before, peering deeply at both sides. From his sharp cheekbones and heavy brow to his large and hooked nose, looking over his thick shoulder-length dark hair, which he still wore long and brushed sideways to hide the lack of hair on the other side.

  Trailing her fingertips lightly across his scarred temple, Sansa brushed away the strands of dark hair there, gazing at the hole that remained of his ear and at the twisted mass of scars covering half his features. She looked over the slick dark flesh that was hard as leather and pocked with craters and fissured by deep cracks, and saw the hint of bone where his flesh had been seared away, down by his strong jaw.

  “My husband,” she whispered, relishing the way those two words sounded when she said them out loud.

  Sandor’s eyes were narrowed, searching for _something_ in her eyes, trying to confirm that there wasn’t a single trace of reluctance regarding what they were about to do within her features. It only served to make her love him even more in these moments, for the intensity of his gaze had her shivering pleasurably.

  Sansa stood on tiptoes, tilting her head up as Sandor leaned down, drawing closer, his large hands resting on her waist to help steady her. Whatever tension there had been within her body had slipped away easily, smoothly, as their faces drew closer to bare inches from each other.

  Sandor claimed her mouth, his scarred lips searching for hers slowly, nibbling at them before they deepened the kiss. Sansa threw one arm around his neck just so she could cling to him, as the other hand started to caress and run down Sandor’s bare chest, before going over the small of his back, the hard muscles underneath her palm making her legs go weak.

  Having such a powerful male body shudder underneath her touch woke something deep within Sansa, and it had her gasping into the kiss as their tongues slid together. Sandor traced her upper lip with the tip of his tongue while their teeth clashed together almost in desperation. His huge hands gripped her body urgently, almost roughly, before moving to her back, sliding up towards the laces of her wedding gown. 

  When she felt his hands trying to tear at the fabric of her dress and undergarment, Sansa broke the kiss with a moan, driving Sandor to open his eyes while he blinked down at her, a slightly puzzled look on his face. She reluctantly let go of his lower scarred lip which she had been biting.

  “You taste of wine,” Sandor told her at last, grinning, arching his eyebrow down at her, his hands spanning her waist.

  “You too,” she replied, giggling at how silly that sounded, conscious of how swollen her lips felt and the blush that was creeping up her neck.

  She buried her face against Sandor’s chest before kissing the hollow of his neck and the underside of his jaw as she stood on tiptoes, loving the way he smelled and how warm his skin was, as her arms went around his waist, her hands trailing down his back.

  “Sandor, I…” she began to say, but her big man nodded, leaning down to press another kiss upon her mouth. “I _know_ , little bird. I love you, too. So fucking much you have no idea how it hurts.”

  She started pressing little kisses all over his muscled chest at that, remembering the first time she had explored his body with her mouth. Her tongue then licked the burn scars that lingered on his neck since he had been a little boy. Sansa was glad to have done this to Sandor when they were back in Lorath, or she would have been even more nervous than she was now. Yet tonight, knowing that they didn’t have to stop, that there was no need for drawbacks or restraints, made it even better, for it was all so new and exciting.

  Sandor dug his fingers into her skin, holding on to her while she brushed her lips against his shoulder blade, biting at it playfully. Her eyes were closed and her hands were tracing the battle scars on his large chest and narrow waist.

  “I am yours completely, my love,” Sansa whispered in his good ear, making him shudder at her words. _He’s waited so long for this_ , she reasoned. _We both have_.

  She drew back from a reluctant Sandor and swallowed. Her hands never trembled as she started to take her wedding gown off, pulling it down from her shoulders, conscious of how much Sandor always loved to watch her undress. The gown slid down to the floor to lie as a white and grey puddle at her feet. Sansa kept her eyes on Sandor’s face the entire time, his eyes widened, almost devouring her, the muscles in his neck working as he gulped and clenched his fists at his sides.

  Sansa swiftly stepped out of the gown, gooseprickles covering her arms and legs, the cold night air making her tremble slightly as she stood before Sandor in nothing but a sheer white light linen tunic that covered her to mid-thigh, her auburn hair falling down to the small of her back.

  Sandor’s deep gaze raked over her body, lingering everywhere; from her breasts and her stiff little nipples, to the womanly curves of her waist and hips, then to her bare long legs. Breathing shallowly, Sansa’s heart started pounding with excitement in her chest.

  Suddenly, any restraint they had left between them crumbled away and they threw themselves upon each other, losing themselves to the world–to anything and anyone beyond this room. Sandor only had to take one stride to reach her, and as Sansa gasped as _something_ overwhelming ran through her body that left her staggering, he had her in his arms again. He kept her from falling by wrapping his strong arms around her, kissing her hard, groaning into her mouth. Sandor broke their deep embrace so he could kiss her neck with his half-scarred lips, his hand brushing her loose long hair out of the way before he started to lick and suck at her pulse point.

  He then nibbled and licked at her shoulder with his teeth and the tip of his tongue, before lowering his head to her chest. Without a warning, Sandor’s large hands cupped her breasts, making Sansa moan at the sensation, while Sandor’s hot mouth kissed the hollow of her throat before moving over the exposed roundness of her breasts. Sansa’s chest started heaving up and down in arousal as he lightly rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, her own hands drawing smooth circles against Sandor’s wide chest before moving them down to his firm arse.

  Sansa moaned again and breathed excitedly when her big man suddenly fell to his knees before her, groaning in overwhelming lust, his head now of a same height with her chest while she buried her hands in his hair, gathering it around her fingers, her nails scratching the scalp. Sandor tore at her white shift in eagerness, discarding it on the floor with a grunt and revealing her bare breasts and her flushed, naked body to his roving eyes. She did not even try to cover herself up. _I have nothing to hide. Not from him_.

  In a heartbeat, Sandor had buried his face between her breasts, covering them with his warm hands. The gesture made her shudder in pure bliss, despite the night’s cold, at the way it felt to be naked in Sandor’s arms.

  She then gasped in unexpected pleasure when Sandor closed his mouth around one of her breasts, sucking and licking at her hardened nipple, making her arch her back into him so she could press herself closer to him, her hands still scratching the back of his head while he grunted in pleasure. Sandor’s tongue was flicking around and over her stiff nipple, then grazing at it gently between his teeth, ripping a strangled moan from her throat. His free hand ran over the remainder of her body, from her free breast to her backside, running over her tummy, her thighs, her hips, her arms, and hovering dangerously near her lady parts and the curly reddish hair down there, finally settling it on her waist, steering her closer against him.

  Sansa curled into him in pleasure, running her hands across the length of Sandor’s broad back and wide shoulder blades, loving the way they both reacted to the other’s touch. Their hands and caresses saying so much, almost making the need for words completely meaningless. Sandor then turned his attention to her other breast, molding it to his large hand and growling in a throaty voice, “You’re so fucking beautiful, little bird. So soft.”

  Her cheeks reddened and her lips parted at the way his voice sounded when he said those words, his breath hot against her naked skin, a whimper escaping her lips. Sansa trembled as an intense, wonderful feeling sparked between her legs and below her tummy overtook her. She felt something wet between her thighs and her knees buckled beneath her, making her slide down against her husband, unable to stand anymore and needing him for support. He caught her in his arms as he moaned her name. 

  With a shaky groan, Sandor lifted his burned face up to look at her as he returned his mouth to her breast. Their eyes were locked together, Sansa’s long soft auburn hair falling to create a curtain around them both as she moaned raggedly and threw her arms around Sandor’s neck when he stood up again, dragging her up with him. Sansa kissed him hard, his thick arms going around her, crushing her to him while she tried wrapping her legs around his waist, sliding them both down to the floor.

  Feeling bold, she let her hands roam over his body and down towards his hard stomach, caressing him there with light fingertips before she tentatively reached further down until she touched the laces of his breeches. The outline of his manhood drew her gaze, but just thinking about how large it was had her blushing like mad. So instead Sansa raised her head, searching Sandor’s eyes, finding his features twisted with plain desire. She stared at him, still half-dressed while she stood naked as her nameday before him.

  “Sansa,” he growled huskily after a moment, breathing hard and grinding his teeth when she reached both hands to tug at his breeches and started to unlace him.

  “Yes?” she cooed softly.

  “Fuck,” was the only thing he managed to rasp, stepping back from her so he could quickly pull down his breeches. 

  Sansa was rooted to the spot as she looked down at Sandor’s large, stiff manhood while he finally stood before her as naked as she was, not even realizing that her mouth was hanging open in a little O of desire and surprise as she gaped down at him, unable to do anything else. She almost gulped as she tried to imagine how it would feel to have him sheathed deep inside of her.

  Sansa moaned softly in slight trepidation as she roamed her eyes over Sandor’s perfectly muscled body, over his lean hips and then over his long muscular legs that were covered with fine dark hair. But then her eyes flickered back to his hard manhood again, gazing at the way Sandor’s hand closed around it when she noticed the tip of it had a wetness leaking from it.

  _Oh, gods_ , was the only coherent thought she had before her big man closed the short distance between them, claiming her mouth again with his hungrily. His right arm stood between them as Sandor was slowly stroking his hardness.

  “Sansa,” he suddenly growled in pleasure, asking her with a hint of vulnerability in his rough tone, “Please, touch me.”

  His free hand tightened around her wrist while he brought her hand over his hard length. Sansa softly closed her hand around her husband’s manhood, moaning loudly while she rested her forehead over his large chest, marveling at the way his manhood felt under her fingers and palm.

  “Yes, like that,” her big man rasped low in his throat. “Squeeze it harder.”

  Sansa started stroking him slowly, squeezing him hard the way he was showing her how to. She was alternating between blushing madly at her audacity and laughing into Sandor’s chest lovingly while he was breathing hard in pleasure, his chest heaving up and down. Then her big man made her yelp in surprise as he snarled, “Right.”

  Sandor lifted her up in his arms with a wicked grin on his face, which had Sansa laughing even more as she clung to him after she feebly asked him to put her down, pressing a kiss on the good side of her husband’s face.

  Instead of putting her down, Sandor’s hold on her tightened to the point where she thought fleetingly that she would probably have bruises covering parts of her body on the morrow. He strode over to the bed in a few steps and carefully deposited her on it, his grey eyes never leaving her face, her arms still around his neck and drawing him closer to her.

  In their enthusiasm and eagerness they accidentally bumped their heads together, making them both laugh breathlessly for some moments before Sandor climbed into bed with her, lying down by her side. Sansa was glad for the candle that was lighted beside the bed, which allowed her to see his burned face perfectly.

  “I’ll have a song from you,” he rasped then, his hand smoothing away some locks of hair from Sansa’s face, making her frown at him when he propped himself up on his elbows.

  _What?_ she thought, puzzled for a moment. _What song?_ But Sansa didn’t have time to think on the meaning of these words once Sandor started kissing her again slowly, before turning over so he was now lying on top of her, making them both press heavily into the mattress, drawing a happy smile from her.

  Gods, she was tall for her age, but Sandor always made her feel so small and never more so than right now, for he was a grown man of six-foot-eight. She ran her hands across his back in anticipation, shifting her weight upon the mattress since she was slightly uncomfortable. Once he had her pinned down to the bed, their long legs entwined. She felt his manhood rubbing and hardening against her thigh when he started moving above her, making her shudder nervously.

  Sandor grabbed her hips and ground himself against her as he loomed over her naked body. He then shoved his large hand underneath her bottom, hoisting her up before he pressed his hard member against her belly, where it leaked sticky fluid over her, making her moan in what she realized was pleasure.

  When Sandor took her nipple back in his warm mouth again, Sansa whimpered, and tried to press her breasts against him, drawing a groan from him even as his tongue played with her tiny hard peak. Sandor took hold of her wrists in one large hand, not ungently, bringing her arms high above her head.

  Letting go of her nipple, her big man started to caress her skin feverishly with his huge hand while his scarred lips traced lover’s caresses over her, his manhood still brushing against her belly; from her arms to her chest, and down to her belly, making her sigh contentedly while she closed her eyes tightly. Allowing Sandor to do whatever he wanted, relishing in the way his touch upon her bare skin made her feel, as if she was on fire, making her happy in the knowledge that as her husband, he would be the only man who could ever touch her this way.

  Sandor’s mouth moved slowly down her tummy and Sansa shuddered, her blood boiling in her veins as she realized what he was about to do. _This can’t get any better_ , she told herself, while she panted in anticipation. Caressing her long legs, her knees, and the inside of her thighs with his hands, her big man spread her legs, settling between them as she whimpered in need. Her hips jumped when she felt his hot breath fan over her entrance, while he stared at her for a long moment as he growled something under his breath, making her blush self-consciously.

  Sansa tilted her head back on the bed in arousal, a throaty moan ripped from her lips at the thought of what Sandor was about to do, lust increasing inside of her, making her move her hips in small circles of their own accord.

  Her big man needed no more reassurance from her than that. Grinning like a fool, Sandor raised his head for a moment to look at her with a stormy look over his scarred features, before he lowered his face down between her legs, the sight making her tilt her hips upwards to meet him, aching for release.

  She gaped in pleasure when Sandor finally put his mouth on her before he started lapping at her lady parts. It seemed to Sansa then that time lost its meaning for her in that room. Sandor kept on teasing and licking at her womanhood, as she ground her hips against her big man’s face in complete abandon, for neither of them knew what the hour was, but the night was still young and they had it all to themselves.

  Sansa’s hands moved from his shoulders to grip the edge of the mattress, fisting the sheets tightly in desperate need.

  “ _Oh, gods_ ,” she moaned over and over again, her legs now sprawled over Sandor’s large shoulders, the sole of her feet digging into her big man’s back. Without any warning, Sansa’s body stiffened and she shuddered, feeling a long, long wave of pleasure coursing slowly through her body as she reached her very first peak. She tried to cry out, but no sound came from her throat while she arched her back and pressed Sandor’s face against her lady parts deep between her long legs, forgetting everything; and when she _did_ cry out, her body stilled, and Sansa had to bite her hand hastily at the loud sound she let out.

  Looking at Sandor with eyes glazed with lust, she threw her arms around him once he had moved back on top of her and claimed her mouth again, kissing her tenderly for a moment. His long dark hair fell limply over his face, shielding his burns from view as he leaned down. He breasts were pressed hard against his chest while Sandor raised one of his hands to cushion the back of her head

  After he kissed her deeply for a few long moments, Sandor drew back, looking intently at her, his breath coming in short and ragged.

  “Sansa…” he groaned.

  “Yes?” she replied in a low exhausted tone, lips parted in desire and love for him, her voice so low she wasn’t sure if he had heard her despite their proximity.

  Sandor’s fingers held her jaw in an iron grasp as he rasped, “Trust me, little bird.”

  Blinking up at him, crushed under his heavy weight, yet with certainty that she was ready, Sansa gave a tiny nod and whispered softly, truthfully, “I do.”

  Her husband’s scarred mouth nibbled at her lips as her hands clutched at his shoulders when she felt Sandor bring his hand between them so he could start stroking his hard manhood against her again. Sansa’s arousal increased tenfold when she felt him steadying the head of his hardness into her swollen lady parts, his powerful body moving between her and parting her legs with his knees. The way Sandor was teasing her only sent her heart thumping even faster in her chest, in fear, nervousness, anticipation and excitement.

  Sandor stilled for a heartbeat while his eyes searched hers. When Sansa smiled and nodded at him, Sandor slowly sheathed himself inside her with a grunt, pushing his hips forward. Sansa hissed sharply at the strange feeling of his hard manhood entering her, the world going blank for a painful moment.

  “Are you all right, bird?” she registered Sandor asking her a couple of heartbeats later, worried.

  She gave him the tiniest of nods, knowing that this _had_ to happen, and the pain was a small price to pay in return for having the man she loved claim her maidenhead. Sansa barely managed to whisper, “Yes, darling.”

  With a loud moan that rumbled from deep within his chest, Sandor pushed deeper into her tightness while her body trembled, driving her to bite down hard on her big man’s shoulder as they clung to each other. The sharp feeling of being stretched lingered as she stiffened underneath her husband’s heavy bulk, and when she finally felt her maidenhead yield to him, Sansa was surprised to realize that it wasn’t really hurting her as much as she would’ve expected, for she was only feeling discomfort.

  Sandor buried his face on her neck while a strangled sound escaped his lips and he stopped moving inside her. Sansa was trembling all over, from her head to her toes while she felt herself adjust around him, the burning muscles within her womanhood almost crushing Sandor, who groaned deeply once more.

  Breathing slowly, letting these entire new overwhelming feelings take over her, Sansa threw her head back down on the pillow. There she met Sandor’s gaze. He was looking deeply at her with a burning light in his deep grey eyes.

  After blinking away a couple of tears that slid down her cheeks, Sansa returned her big man’s stare with wide bright eyes as he brought one hand to her face, brushing the tears away with his thumb.

  Sandor reached with his other hand down between them to gently stroke her lady parts which brought her more pleasure as she moaned and writhed beneath him, realizing that her tears were of joy. Joy at this, at what they were doing, burying deep within the other, molding their bodies to become one to match the state of their hearts.

  When Sandor pulled out of her slowly, he reminded her how much he cared for her with his next words.

  “I love you, Sansa,” Sandor managed to say in a dark rumbling growl as he pushed back into her carefully. Sansa never wanted this moment to end, for she felt whole, even if for a brief moment she could not breathe, but then Sansa heard herself reply, “And I you.”

  Accepting this intrusion to her body at last, Sansa started to roll her hips slowly against him to meet each of her husband’s thrusts as they looked at the other with wonder and love etched plainly both their features. There was nothing between them now but this sweet intimacy, nothing to hold them back, everything to give.

  At first, Sandor restrained himself as he moved slowly inside of her, not wanting to hurt her. Her husband pulled her close and held her in his arms, kissing her forehead or gasping words of love in her ears in the gathering dark of this endless night until the discomfort turned into a sweet ache.

  But then, with his burned cheek resting against hers, and his lips upon the edge of her mouth, Sandor increased the speed of his hips inside her with every single beat of their hearts, the sounds of their slapping skins rising loudly in the room while her moans hitched higher in pleasure.

  Sansa had never expected _this_ to feel so good, and it wasn’t very long before her husband’s jaw clenched hard and he growled deep in his throat as he lost what was left of his restraint, a savage look appearing on his features. Her big man’s thrusts became desperate, making her moan so loudly he had to kiss her to keep her quiet. Sandor was unable to slow down by then, his hips moving jerkily inside her even as her own pleasure built up within her.

  “Sansa!” he rasped loudly, hoarsely, just before he came between her thighs, spilling himself inside of her while Sansa reached her release too, her body racking with waves of pleasure, gasping for breath as Sandor collapsed on top of her, shaking and panting, burying his head on the crook of her neck; she clung to him, new tears stinging her eyes at the overwhelming sensations that she was feeling in these moments.

  Minutes became moments, yet neither of them moved. Sansa’s breathing slowly returned to normal as she felt the muscles deep within her twitch while she and Sandor where still joined as one. Her big man had buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing heavily into her hair as they refused to let go of the tight hold they had on the other. Sansa had never felt more loved in her life.

_I can’t believe we waited so long for_ _this_ , she thought dimly, her hands stroking her husband’s damp back absentmindedly as their bodies relaxed at last. Memories of what they had just done flashed across her mind, making her cheeks glow red in pleasure. It felt so strange and yet empowering to know that a man like Sandor could react like this because of her.

  With a deep grunt, Sandor shifted most of his weight off of her, letting his head rest upon her breasts, their legs tangled together underneath the sheets, warming each other with the heat of their bodies.

  Dimly, Sansa became aware of the wet stickiness between her thighs. Her eyes fell on the water basin in a corner of the room where water and a cloth that awaited her, but she felt so good and so content she didn’t want to move, didn’t want to step away from her love after this for even a moment.

  Her big man breathed deeply as he hugged her possessively, making her smile into his hair, making her understand then how fragile was the human heart, for she would give up her life for Sandor’s without any hesitations at any moment, treasuring him beyond everything and everyone.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

 

***

 

Sandor was breathing loudly in rhythm with the strong beating of Sansa’s heart beneath him, his face buried between her breasts as time went by, utterly spent. He wondered how he had ever managed to live without this, as he heard Sansa moan, or sigh. He wasn’t sure which one. Not until she had come into his life had Sandor been struck with the realization of just how love-starved he’d been all his life, but the little bird had certainly made him remember.

  The night air was stinging on his back where Sansa had dug her nails into his skin, but he welcomed the feeling. _Anything that proves to me that we just fucked, that this is real and I am not dreaming, is good enough for me_. Sandor just needed to lie down like this for some moments, to feel the way his wife was running her soft hands on his back as she murmured some nonsense to him which only served to make him love her more, and wish that they could stay like this forever.

  Bloody hells, to think of all the time that they’d lost without this sweet, mind-blowing pleasure in their lives. At the back of his head, Sandor knew that it had been best this way for Sansa, and even if though the months and months of longing had been soddingly unbearable for him, tonight had been beyond anything he’d ever felt before.

  _What a lucky bastard I am_ , he thought then and not for the first time, as pleased with himself as any man could be when he’s just fucked the most beautiful woman in the world, a woman who loved him back in return. And the little bird was truly his now. His woman, his wife, his life. There had been no need to ask her if she had enjoyed it, or if she now somehow hated him, for her love for him had been plain and clear on her face as she gazed up at him with eyes opened in wonder, holding him back just as tightly as he was her, making him drown in her Tully waters as his heart ceased its steady beating.

  As he rested on his stomach next to Sansa, their limbs still jumbled together, Sandor could do no more but breathe the smell of her in, playing over in his mind everything that had happened between them. From the way he had made the little bird ready for him when he took her so that she’d enjoyed it just as much as he had, to the way in which her sweet heaving teats had felt underneath his hands and mouth, and to the way she had moaned and whimpered when he had teased her with the head of his cock, making it hard as steel, and his balls clench painfully in pure desire for her. 

  At first, Sandor had been afraid he would hurt her, yet Sansa had ended up fucking him back eagerly after a short time, making him fuck her harder than he’d intended and peak so bloody hard and deep inside her sooner than he would have wanted.

  When his breathing had finally returned to its regular steady rhythm, Sandor shifted around on the bed, feeling a pang as he left the sweet comfort of Sansa’s chest. He lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling before he drew the little bird to him, pulling her closer, and scooping her up in his arms.

  Sansa snuggled up against him, resting her pretty head on his shoulder and looking up at him with a sleepy smile. Her chest had been rising sharply since they’d finished, but now she simply fell with a gentle sigh. Sandor nosed her hair out of the way and found her mouth, kissing her full red lips long and deep, and his hand gently tracing the outline of her jaw as she tilted her neck back so she could reach him better.

  When they opened their eyes, their mouths still pressed together, they took a long moment to stare at each other. Sandor placed his free hand on her hipbone, relishing in the feeling of lying naked in bed with Sansa as she threw one long leg over his own idly, taking hold of his hand, their fingers brushing together as they interlaced.

  “I fucking love you, little bird,” Sandor rasped yet again in answer to her previous whispers of love, for he meant it and would never tire of letting her know.

  His little wife smiled up at him again and kissed his neck. “I know, darling. Me too.”

  Smirking, Sandor kissed the top of her head and smoothed her auburn hair out of her face, before he snorted and commented airily, “You sang a loud pretty song for me, little bird.”

  It took Sansa a moment to finally understand what he really meant. She raised her head from his chest to look at him with a little puzzled frown, saying, “Song? What… oh!”

  Sandor broke out into barks of laughter, pushing a stray lock of hair behind his wife’s ear before she buried her face in the crook of his neck in embarrassment.

  “You meant that song all along, didn’t you?” she asked him, her voice muffled. “From before we even escaped Maegor’s!”

  Ruffling her already messed up trestles, Sandor went on laughing, highly amused at her reaction, thinking in wonder how innocent the little bird was at times. But then Sansa bit his shoulder blade, making him hiss as she punched him lightly on the spot where only moments ago her teeth had grazed his skin.

  “Gods, you’re incorrigible!” she exclaimed, her face threatening to break into a wide smile for a moment before she also started laughing with him, kissing his burned cheek. “You’re making me blush. Stop it.”

  He rolled his eyes at her affectionately, wondering how could she blush after what they had just done. _Bloody lady that she is, no wonder_. But Sandor loved her for this, for it meant that despite what she had suffered through life, Sansa was still in a way the sweet innocent little bird that had caught his eye long ago.

  Sandor grinned at her brightly before his eyes fell to the little bird’s legs then and on the blankets underneath them, noticing for the first time the blood staining the sheets and their legs, along with his seed. _Seaworth will have to see it if we want to keep him on our side for as long as we are able to_.

  Sandor’s hand started caressing his wife’s hip before he suddenly stilled when he felt a scar underneath his finger, which he had not known was there before, for when he’d kissed the little bird’s body before, he’d been too bloody eager and the room too dark to take a proper good stare at this.

  Yet he knew at once what it was.

  _Seven bloody hells, bugger them all to burn forever!_ he thought in fury, feeling hate and loathing coil in his belly at once, cursing his own guts for having done nothing back then. Sandor didn’t need to ask the bird where she had gotten this scar, for the memory of seeing those fucking shits, Meryn and Boros, strike the little bird with the edge of their blades under Joffrey’s command was something he would never be able to forget, or forgive himself for. _And now I’ve caused her pain as well._

  “What is the matter?” she chirped, looking beautiful and perfect beside him, noticing his scowl, oblivious to the dark struggles that were running through his mind.

  Sandor had to look away from her. He practically threw the words at her when he growled, “Did I hurt you too much?”

  _I clasped her so tightly there are sure to be bruises on her, I bet. Just as there are scratches on me_. Sandor would not have minded this way of branding each other, but after recalling the way Sansa had suffered, he couldn’t stop his belly from clenching tightly in disgust. _You did nothing for her, and what little you did do was not enough. It took you long enough to take her away from King’s Landing_.

  “It _did_ hurt,” the little bird finally admitted. Sandor looked at her at that, only to find her gazing at him with curiosity and love. She kissed the corner of his mouth as she continued. “But not very much. It is a pain I would gladly suffer again because of what it meant, my dearest. My big man.”

  Something in the way she said that, in the way she looked at him and brushed his scarred lips with the tip of her tongue made him relent. _I shouldn’t fuck up this night. Sansa deserves so much better than a brooding sullen husband_.

  Sandor brought his hand to the back of Sansa’s head and kissed her, which in turn had her sighing softly against his mouth. It made his cock harden again. As they kissed, he felt his little bird tremble beside him.

  “You’re shivering,” he rasped, not wishing her to catch a cold. “Let’s get under the covers. Where’s your sleeping shift?”

  Laughing, the little bird asked him, “Don’t you remember? I can’t wear my tunic. You ripped it off earlier.”

  That had him snorting and remembering how fucking happy he really was tonight. _If only we could stay like this forever and forget the whole damned world_.

  “Bugger me, you’re right, Sansa. Sorry about that,” he grumbled, drawing the sheets to cover them.

  His little bird chuckled. “You are not one bit sorry about it, Sandor Clegane.”

  Sandor couldn’t help himself then. He threw his head back and laughed raucously, rasping in honest answer, “You’re right, bird. I’m not. Not one bloody bit.”

  “Oh, my big man,” Sansa sighed, running her hand across his chest, drawing her fingers through the hair there.

  Afterwards, for the first time since their arrival in Braavos, Sandor allowed himself to get some proper rest for a couple of hours. They had to be at the shack where the others were an hour before dawn, and midnight was still hours away if Sandor was right. He and the little bird still had plenty of time to make the most of their wedding night before the hour of the wolf went by.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you not only for reading this, my lovely readers, but for your patience until this chapter came along! I just hope you all liked it!! Please let me know :) Wishing you all the best Easter holidays!


	40. Farewell to Essos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> * onborrowedwings and nysandra, thank you for all the time, dedication, support and feedback you’ve given me!! :D again, owe you so much!  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

  Sandor, wide awake and alert, grabbed the discarded breeches he’d readily thrown to the floor hours ago, pulling them on silently. Then he donned on his tunic, boiled leather and his boots, running through his mind all the while the list of tasks he and his little bird had to do, considering alternatives to everything that could happen that could fuck up their plans for today.

  The room was dark but for the remains of the fire that was blazing in the hearth, its shifting flames and shifting logs the only sounds to break the silence in the room, and the stillness that descended on _The_ _Inn of the Green Eel_.

  It was still two hours till dawn, the appointed time in which the galley _The King of the Seas_ was going to set sail towards White Harbor, and Sansa and Sandor had an hour to reach the shack where the Onion Knight and the others would be waiting for them. Even though he was loath to walk away from the comfort and happiness he had found in resting beside Sansa last night, Sandor knew it was better to be ready and have time to spare.

  They were almost ready now, since they had agreed on not asking for a bath, knowing how long that would take. Instead, after the last time they had fucked, they had cleaned themselves with wet clothes, at times reaching out a hand to touch or help the other, before going back to bed to try and get some rest.

  When he had woken up from a deep, peaceful and contented slumber a short while back, Sandor had remained in bed at first, with Sansa in his arms, watching her sleep, simply and silently admiring her with eyes full of wonder. _I’d never felt more alive as I did with her last night_ , he gathered silently, smiling in the dark.

  For now that he could have Sansa, Sandor had found out that he could no longer stop himself through their wedding night from doing just that. When the time had come to wake her up, and even if he had done so gently, kissing her beautiful face until she blinked up at him with a sleepy smile, it really had seemed to be one of the hardest things Sandor had ever done to leave her despite the night they’d had together, because rather than laugh and kiss and play and stay in bed as they were used to do, they had to go catch a bloody ship.

  And so he had almost cursed himself, along with the gods, the sodding Onion Knight and everyone else for not allowing him the chance to remain in bed with the little bird all day long, until he remembered that he shouldn’t really mock so readily now.  _I’m lucky to have been able to be with her and make her my wife while we stayed too long in this buggering city_. _Don’t brood on what you can’t have, and forget the sweet promises at hand for now_.

  Before he knew it, Sandor found himself imagining the future that awaited him and his little wife, if they somehow managed to survive the war in all fronts and the bloody northern winter ahead of them. Losing himself once more in the arousing memories of Sansa moaning underneath him as he took her, and in the bliss that they had come to know as they fucked at last, Sandor didn’t even realize that he was still grinning like a bloody green boy who had just fucked for the first time, until he was closing his saddlebag and his little wife chirped, “Why are you smiling?”

  Turning around to face her, Sandor couldn’t help it, and his grin widened as he looked at her. His little bird had been hugging her legs as she sat up in bed, covering herself with the bed sheets ever since he had stood up to get dressed. Sandor had dressed under his beautiful wife’s intense stare, smirking with pride at the way his body looked. _The only thing she can find fault with is my face_ , Sandor had gathered, until he reminded himself the next moment that the little bird had stopped minding his burns long ago.

  _She looks at me now the way I always wanted her to, since I first met her_. And by the look on Sansa’s face and the blush that had crept up her neck, Sandor gathered that she had liked what she saw. Sansa’s tousled auburn hair looked like some wild lion’s mane at present, and she was regarding him with a small smile of her own as she watched him get ready before her.

  “You very well know why,” Sandor grunted in response, striding over to her with a smirk.

  The little bird raised her face up to meet his as he leaned down to kiss her, cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone backwards and forward.

  “Good morning, big man,” his wife whispered against his mouth, smiling, making him remember the night and day when they had first started kissing.

  “Morning, Sansa Clegane,” he rasped in return, still having a hard time to believe that she was now a part of his family for true.

  He saw Sansa close her eyes at that, sighing softly, “I love how it sounds,” making him kiss her again, deeply.

  They were only silent for a few heartbeats, but the sound of both their bellies rumbling loudly in protest interrupted them. Sandor snorted, his eyes falling on the bare skin of his bird’s arms and shoulders, straightening up reluctantly from Sansa’s mouth and her warmth even as the vision of what was underneath the blankets had him going hard. He barked, “Hungry?”

  “Yes,” Sansa answered, yawning. “I feel I could eat a whole chicken by myself.”

  “I doubt the lazy bugger that calls himself the innkeeper will have any chickens at this hour, bird. I’ll most likely have to pay him to get his arse out of bed.”

  His wife nodded in understanding. Sandor wanted to tell her right there and then that if she wished it so, she only had to tell him that she wanted to remain here in bed with him till the world ended and he would happily oblige, but he knew her too well to know that Sansa was not going to complain about the hardships ahead, whether they be small or big, unless absolutely driven to it as a last resort.

  So instead he sighed and walked away from the bed, sparing one last glance at the bird before he opened the door.

  “I’ll lock you inside just in case, love” he told her. “I’ll just go tell the innkeeper to start making some food for us. Don’t open the door to anyone for anything, understood?”

  Nodding, Sansa replied, “Yes. Should I start getting ready too?”

  Sandor open his mouth to reply, but didn’t say anything. He frowned, quickly regarding Sansa. Her pretty face looked tired, and she was soon going to be deprived of the comforts of a feather bed once again. Since her saddlebag was already packed, all she needed to do was to dress and she would be all done.

  “No need,” he told her. “You can rest for a bit longer.”

  “Very well,” she said, adjusting the bed sheets so that they covered up more of her skin. “Please don’t take too long, Sandor. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I won’t,” he growled in promise, opening the door and stepping outside into the silent hallway.

  The inn was quiet at this hour. The streets of the secret city became alive by nightfall, but Sandor guessed that drunkards returning home, or prancing bravos looking for a fight would be the only people outside at the moment. _The Inn of the Green Eel_ was located as far as he had been able to ensure from the brothels and taverns, where the scum of the world gathered to pass away their time. Luckily, though, he wouldn’t have to go outside just yet, for the rooms where the innkeeper slept were in the courtyard, beside the stable where Stranger and Nan were being housed.

  Once Sandor reached the ground floor, he made his way across the common room, exchanging a glance with the boy that was sitting beside the counter as a guard, the lad’s eyes barely able to remain open. But when he saw Sandor’s face as he strode before him, he jerked awake in fright. Sandor scowled at him for that and muttered a curse under his breath. The little bird had come to love the sight of his ugly face, burns and all, so the rest shouldn’t matter. _Better get used to people looking away again, fool_.

  Sandor walked outside and knocked loudly at the door to the one-room house in a corner of the courtyard. He had to wait for a couple of long moments before the bloody innkeep finally answered the door.

  “What the hell is going on?” the old man exclaimed, yawning and scratching the back of his head. When he met Sandor’s eyes, he became suddenly alert, muttering with narrowed eyes in Braavosi, “Does your master want anything?” 

  _Seven hells, my master_. As far as the innkeep knew, Sandor was still the bodyguard of Hagen Edar, the disgraced son of the famous Lorathi merchant family, and Sansa was his wife, while he was their sworn shield. _If the bugger had wondered why Edar’s wife and paid sword returned to the inn alone last night, at least he is not making any_ _questions_. It had been a small mercy that the common room had been almost full last night, for the loud shouts and curses of drunken men had somewhat muffled the screams and moans Sandor was sure had at least been heard outside the hallway of their room.

  “Aye, we want good hot food to break our fast with. Some beer and milk too,” Sandor rasped at the man in his best attempt at Braavosi.

  The innkeeper looked at him with incredulity. “At this hour? It’s not even near dawn!”

  “Yes, we want it right now, you fool. And you’re going to get paid for it, so spare me your cackling and get to it now. We’ll go down to the common room soon enough, and expect to see good food on the table by then.”

  He turned around and left the old man without another word, knowing that he would do as he’d been told.

  Once he had arrived back to the room, Sandor quickly stepped inside and barred the door behind him, relieved that Sansa was just as he had left her, unharmed and as safe as she would ever be in this inn in the Free City. _It’s not Essos we have to worry about from now on, though_.

  “Everything all right?” Sansa asked him at once, propping herself up with her elbows.

  “Aye. Told the idiot that he better cook something quickly if he knows what’s good for him,” Sandor answered, heading over to his saddlebag.

  He picked it up and placed it on the small table by the door just as the bird said, “We have a long day ahead of us. I guess I should start getting ready now.”

  “I reckon that would be wise, little bird,” Sandor replied, smiling at her, not even remembering that the gesture only served to pull the burns near his mouth into an ugly stretching sight that twitched. 

  Sandor watched as Sansa suddenly stood up on the bed, still clutching the bedcovers around her like some towel after a bath. She just stayed there though, silently regarding him with an expression that left him at once in no doubt what she meant. _She needs me_.

  “Sandor,” she said then, her voice barely above the tone of a whisper as she beckoned him to her.

  In three long strides Sandor was before her, his legs hitting the edge of the bed and his arms going around her as he drew her close to him. Sansa hugged him back, her arms going around his neck, and the bed sheet sliding down to puddle on the mattress, revealing his wife’s beautiful naked body in his arms. The tightness in his breeches increased at once as his eyes roamed down over her for a moment before she pressed herself closer to him, her mouth searching for his scarred one.

  Sandor groaned as he felt the smooth skin of Sansa’s body underneath his rough touch, as he brought one hand to wrap around her tiny waist, and the other one to hold the back of his little bird’s head after having slid them along her bare back and the curve of her waist.

  His wife meanwhile cupped both sides of Sandor’s face alike, pressing herself so close to him that all he could do was kiss her back, breathing in her smell, wishing so much that he could simply take her right here and now again–the knowledge that he couldn’t do just that, for the rest of today at least, gnawing inside of him till it was just too bloody much.

  As Sansa nibbled at his upper lip, tugging at it with her own plump ones playfully, Sandor slipped his tongue inside her mouth, amazed again by his good fortune. _How can anything feel like this, so bloody good and right?_ Never before had he understood when people said that some things were meant to be, but then the little bird had come into his life and changed everything for the better. _Surely_ this _is one of them. Having her in my arms like this._

  Sandor had just turned his attention to Sansa’s earlobe, taking it between his teeth with care, even as he brought his hand to cradle the little bird’s teat, his thumb playing with the hardened nipple, making his wife sigh and trembled underneath his touch, breaking the kiss so she could bury her head in the crook of his neck.

  As he silently wrapped his arms around her, trying not to crush her as he held her to him, Sandor’s eyes fell on the bed sheets then, and his guts twisted in knots as he saw the blood on them. Not because of what it meant, since Sansa hadn’t bled too much, and this was something that couldn’t be helped one way or another, but because he remembered that they would have to show it to the fucking smuggler.

  He had wanted to break Davos’ neck as the low scum had asked to see the bloody sheet, so he could have proof to show to Stannis Rigid Baratheon back in the Seven Kingdoms that Sandor had spoken the truth when he said he’d respected the little bird, and though he’d agreed to it in the end, and even the little brave bird hadn’t said a word in protest about it, Sandor seethed inwardly as he reminded himself that he couldn’t go on and strangle the only ally he and the little bird would have in the difficult times ahead.

  So he stayed there, hugging Sansa close to him instead, wishing to shield her from the world beyond this room for a few more moments. From all the whispers, threats, accusations, insults, backstabbing, treasons, betrayals, and all of that shit that was the game of thrones. For Sandor knew that something was worrying his little bird at present; something that had to do with what was in store for them across the Narrow Sea.

  For a long moment, they were silent and just stood there holding on to each other in mutual support. His bird finally raised her head and confessed longingly, “I wish our wedding night didn’t have to end.”

  Sandor almost groaned at those words. He pictured in his mind the two of them going to the stables for Nan and Stranger before they rode away from Braavos to the east somewhere, disappearing from the world and those who wished to harm them, but that was bloody impossible by now.

  So instead, Sandor smoothed the little bird’s hair back, away from her forehead as gently as he could, as he raised his eyebrow at her and snarled, “You know you’re a crazy little bird, don’t you?”

  Sansa chuckled. “I must be. That is what you have always told me, big man.”

  Sandor half-smiled slyly at her, wondering what could cheer her up, and growled with arousal at what the near future promised, his eyes darkening, “Do you think the ship’s cabin we are given will have a bunk bed we can make good use of?”

  “Oh, Sandor,” his bird sighed as she tried to fight back a chuckle.

  He’d raised his eyebrow at her again, but Sansa had only gone on in a whisper, blushing red as she admitted in a low voice, “But I _was_ wondering about that, too.”

  Snorting, loving her for her words, Sandor kissed Sansa again, lifting her off the bed in his arms, marvelling at remembering that they were _married_ now, and at the way she always sighed when he kissed her.

  They didn’t break the kiss as he stepped back a few paces, letting his wife slide down against his body slowly. It was all Sandor could do to keep himself in check in the end to restrain himself from doing more than just bucking his hips into her, his cock twitching inside his breeches.

  When they drew apart and looked at each other, with both their gazes dusky with need, Sandor almost felt as if he was drowning in the blue of Sansa’s eyes for a moment, before he kissed her pretty nose and rasped, “I’ll help you get dressed.”

  He would have rather she stayed the way she was, naked and at ease in his arms, but remembering that the little bird had always loved to help him don his armor, and recalling that time in Norvos when she had taken off his boots, had made Sandor feel good to be able to be helping _her_ now. _It’s a privilege to be allowed to do this_ , he’d thought, grateful to his love as he laced her up in one of her thick wool dresses.

  And when they were done, Sansa helped him don his armor while he regarded her with a warm grin, thinking it felt bloody good in some way to be back in his armor again. _Let’s see how long it takes me to change my mind._

  “Ready?” Sandor asked at last, as he tied on his left gauntlet, playing the list of the things they were bringing along once more in his head to make sure they weren’t missing anything.

  Straightening her back, Sansa nodded and replied, “Yes. I’m ready for this.”

  Sandor nodded and grabbed their saddlebags under his arms after he’d opened the door and stepped outside into the hallway. The strong smell of warm food reached him at once. Sansa and Sandor spared one last look at the room where they’d had their long-awaited wedding night. Sandor thought it strange that he found himself not regretting leaving this room, but actually looking forward to the life ahead that promised better times than the one they’d known in this room, in this inn.

  They sat at a table in a corner of the empty common room, only to find that their food wasn’t ready yet and that the boy that had been guarding the room had been delegated to cook them their breakfast. Sandor cursed the innkeeper for a fool as Sansa watched him with a little amused smile. As the innkeeper started bringing them their food, starting with a big tankard of beer for him and a flagon of buttermilk for the bird, and followed at last by morning biscuits, browned hot with honey and butter, served with crisp bacon, blood sausages and hard bread.

  A comfortable silence descended upon them then as took their time to break their fast, both wishing to make this moment last. It was times such as these that Sandor relished, though he knew that but a year ago he would have scoffed at the thought of finding such joy in simple things, such as eating in silence with Sansa beside him, the lack of conversation not a problem.

  At times Sandor caught Sansa giving him shy glances and blushing as soon as he met her stare, which had him snorting, because it was amusing to see how much could Sansa blush at a simple thing like him locking his gaze with hers when they had fucked less than two hours ago.

  “What is it?” he rasped when he’d had enough of Sansa’s behavior, grabbing his tankard of beer, drinking long and deep.

  “It’s just like back in that inn before we reached Great Norvos, don’t you remember?” his little wife confessed. “When I kissed the beer foam from your beard.”

  _Seven hells_ , Sandor thought, remembering at once. He brought his hand to his beard, intending to clean the foam, but stopped when Sansa took hold of his hand in hers and chirped, “Oh, no, you don’t have any foam at present. I was… I was just recalling that night.”

  Sandor remembered that night well enough. He silently put his arm around Sansa’s waist, kissing the crown of her head, before returning his attention to his breakfast. Just as he was about to take a bite of a sausage, Sansa suddenly chirped, “Sandor?”

  “Yes?” he growled.

  “Why didn’t you let me kiss you that night?” she asked him, taking him completely by surprise.

  Sandor stared at the little bird sharply with wide eyes, but saw that she was serious and was curious to learn about his motives at the time.

  After a moment in which he gathered his thoughts, Sandor ran a hand through his hair and answered, “Bugger me if I know, Sansa. I guess I just thought at first that I was just too fucking afraid that I would do something to scare you, bird. To make you fear me again, and have your pretty blue eyes look at me with hatred. Afterwards, before we reached Norvos, it changed. By then I had to remind myself all the sodding time that you were not meant for me in the end. I’d gathered that since everything we were living in Pentos was so new to us both, it was really the novelty what excited you… what drew you to me.”

  When he was done, he saw Sansa lowering her gaze thoughtfully for a brief moment, before she raised her eye to lock her gaze with his and reply softly, “Sandor, everything with you has always felt… has always _been_ right.”

  Sandor smirked down at his bird at that, shaking his head in resignation. He brought the hand he’d had around Sansa’s waist to the nape of her neck with a smile, as he brushed her cheekbone gently with his knuckles, their heads leaning closer and closer to each other. Just as they were about to kiss, their eyes met. He brought his thumb to her pretty mouth, enthralled by the way she parted her lips in desire at the gesture.

  “Little bird,” he told Sansa, in a serious tone, as his mouth began to twitch. “Don’t say that or I’ll start believing you.”

  In the blink of an eye, Sandor was kissing her deeply. When they drew apart, Sandor was struck with a sudden idea. He dipped his finger into the remaining foam of his beer and smeared it across the little bird’s face, drawing a squeak from her in protest, for she had not expected this, and was not fast enough to stop him.

  This time it was Sandor the one who kissed the beer foam from his bird’s face, laughing as Sansa threw her arms around him, and he kissed her again on her pretty red mouth, his hand at the back of her head in an attempt to press her against him even closer. It was a bloody miracle that the innkeeper didn’t appear to order them to lower their voices, so the other guests could get some decent rest.

  After they paid the old innkeeper for his troubles, and saddled Nan and Stranger, Sandor and Sansa pulled on the hoods of their cloaks, the former hiding his sword underneath the folds of the dark traveler’s cloak, and the latter stepping close to him. They lead their horses by the reins through the cobblestone streets of the city, over stone bridges, avoiding the dark alleys that loomed at every corner with unseen threats. By the time they had arrived at the end of the street where the shack was located, it was barely an hour before dawn. _Just in time_ , Sandor thought, stopping as he noticed Stranger and Nan neigh loudly behind him. _Fuck, and here it goes, just as I knew it would_.

  “They’ve sensed him,” Sandor said, jerking his head at the horses, grabbing Nan’s reins in his hands as well as Stranger’s. “Little bird, go ask Hagen to come here.”

  Sansa nodded, sparing a last look at Nan and Stranger before walking over towards the small house quickly. Sandor watched her go for a moment before he turned his attention to the horses and to his surroundings, making sure no one had followed them.

  In less than no time, Sandor saw Hagen Edar come out of the house, clad all in white, with his bow and quiver attached to his back, before he swiftly made his way to where Sandor was waiting for him at the end of the alley, followed by Davos Seaworth.

  “Hello,” Edar said, giving him a meaningful look and a smile.

  Sandor knew why Hagen was smirking, but rather than throw a curse at him for finding it amusing that he and the little bird had finally fucked, Sandor just snarled a greeting in reply.

  “Clegane,” the smuggler said in greeting, nodding in acknowledgment at him.

  “Seaworth. Was the septon hard to deal with after we left?” he asked.

  “Not much. Though he was disappointed at me when he realized I didn’t really want anything to do with his gods,” Hagen said brightly

  Nodding in approval at that, Sandor suddenly remembered. He narrowed his eyes and spat in the direction of Stannis Rigid Baratheon’s Hand, “The bloody sheet is inside the mare’s saddlebag. I trust you don’t need to have the little bird here while you inspect it.”

  The bloody Onion frowned at him at those words, but decided to keep whatever was on his mind to himself. Instead, he silently went over Nan’s saddlebag to take a good look at the bloody sheet. Edar was at least tactful enough to look away, but Sandor kept his eyes fixed on the smuggler as Davos went on with his fucking observation, trying to keep his anger in check at having to witness and permit this. A moment later, the Onion Knight nodded with a solemn face and stepped away from the saddlebag.

  “Thank you, Clegane.”

  Sandor snorted. “For what? It had to be done. _I_ didn’t allow it for you, so don’t thank me. Thank Sansa.”

  The Onion understood his meaning well enough. Sandor returned his attention to the Lorathi, waving his hand at Stranger as he asked him, “Ready for Stranger again? Think you can handle him?”

  Since Sandor had realized yesterday morning as he fed his black war horse that he and Rickon’s wild direwolf were probably not going to get along, he and Seaworth had made up a plan to avoid an encounter between the animals for as long as possible.

  Edar and the smuggler were going to take the horses to the ship first, as Edar lead them below decks and Davos attempted to persuade the captain of The King of the Seas to agree on having a direwolf on his vessel.

  Meanwhile Sandor, Sansa, Rickon and Osha the wildling where going to wait for some moments with Shaggydog back at the shack, so that when the wolf climbed the deck he did not agitate the horses. 

  Sansa’s sworn arrow sighed in resignation. “No,” he answered resignedly. “But there is nothing I can do about it.”

  “Thanks, Hagen,” Sandor told the archer truthfully, knowing how much he still feared Stranger after the horse had tried to kill him back in the Hills of Norvos.

  Edar smiled and gingerly took Stranger’s reins. Sandor patted his horse’s muzzle once before turning back to look at Seaworth. “I’ll see you at the harbor shortly.”

  If Davos had any second thoughts about letting the two Stark heirs out of his sight, entrusting at least Rickon to Sandor’s care however briefly, the Onion thankfully kept his mouth shut.

  “Good luck with the wolf,” was all he said instead, shaking Sandor’s hand briefly. “Set out for the ship in less than half an hour.”

  Nodding, and looking at his beloved destrier one last time, Sandor jerked around and strode towards the end of the street to the small house. As he was about to enter, he turned his head to get a last glimpse of the others, but the men and the horses had already disappeared, swallowed by early morning’s fog.

  Inside the house in the living room, his little bird was talking with her brother, as Osha tied up a small bundle with their scarce belongings. The direwolf was anxiously walking around the house, as if sensing that something important was happening. He stopped when Sandor entered the house, but only spared him a look before going out to the small garden.

  “Sandor!” Rickon said at once, when he caught sight of him. 

  Surprised by how glad the little bird’s brother seemed to be at his sudden appearance, Sandor walked over to him and ruffled his hair, rasping, “You look as if you’d never seen a man in full armor before. You slept well, boy?”

  “Yes. But I was just asking Sansa why Hagen came to sleep here at the house with us and not her?” the boy said, frowning at them both as he fought back a yawn that betrayed how sleepy he was at this early hour.

  Sandor put his hand on Sansa’s shoulder as the bird fussed about with Rickon’s small old cloak, fastening it about his shoulders, sighing in answer, “Rickon darling, you _know_ that married people have to be alone sometimes. Father and Mother slept in the same room in the same bed, remember? Well, that is just what I and Sandor have to do now. We have to be together, and since there was no room for the two of us here, we went back to the inn to get some rest there before the sea journey, to gather up our strength.”

  The young Stark opened his mouth in protest, but before he could say a word, Sandor quickly asked him, “Are you looking forward to it, Rickon? You and the wolf aren’t frightened?”

  Rickon’s eyes widened at that, but he quickly shook his head, and said, “No, and Shaggy isn’t a wolf, he is a direwolf. But–but we won’t get lost again at sea, will we?”

  Sandor and Sansa knew what he meant. Autumn storms had driven the boy, Osha, the wolf and the smuggler to Braavos after Skagos, and Sandor could now only silently hope that the journey to the North didn’t prove too perilous. _There was a reason why there were never any ships heading north to be found in Pentos_ , he gathered uneasily.

  “The way to the north is easy, boy,” Osha suddenly said. “The ship just has to look for the ice dragon up in the skies, and chase the blue star in the rider’s eyes.”

  Exchanging a look with the little bird at those words, Sandor shook his head before dismissing his thoughts on how strange wildlings were. He leaned down to Sansa, and growled close to her ear, “It’s done, little bird. The Onion has seen the bloody sheet.”

  His love chirped “Oh,” in surprise, lowering her face to hide her blush as she realized what his words meant. Sandor straightened up, as the little bird turned to Osha and said, “Please, is there some water? My throat is dry.”

  “There’s water, but it’s not the good water,” the wildling replied.

  Sandor knew what she meant. The good water came over the arches of the great brick aqueduct the Braavosi called the sweetwater river. Rich men had it piped into their homes; the poor filled their pails and buckets at public fountains.

  “All we have is canal water,” Osha went on. “But I gave it a boil.”

  Once the little bird had drunk a wooden cup of water, Sandor gathered that it was time to start heading to the ship, and asked, “Are you ready Osha?” even as he took hold of Sansa’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

  “Aye, I am. I’ve had my fill o’ this shack as well. The sooner we stop this yattering, the sooner I can get as far from it as possible.”

  “Yes, it’s time,” Sansa said in a heavy voice, taking in a deep breath, before smiling at them all. “Let’s go.”

  She stood up and placed her hand on his arm, holding Rickon’s smaller one all the while. They stepped out of the house into the empty street with Osha at their heels, and Sansa’s brother calling to his wolf to keep close.

  They made their way through the maze of islands and canals that was Braavos, devoid of grass and trees, and thankfully strangers at present, since they didn’t encounter many people at this early hour. Sandor knew his way by now through the confusion of small canals well enough, and in less than no time they had passed the fish market and the Long Canal, with the Prestayns and the Antaryons on either side of the broad straight waterway.

  When they reached Ragman’s Harbor, they found it particularly deserted. As Sandor caught sight of Hagen and Davos talking to the captain of the galley that would take them all to the little bird’s home, Sandor could not help but remember the last time he’d been here, when Shaggydog threw him to the ground and Rickon found Sansa.

  It was only two days ago, but somehow it felt as if it was a lifetime ago. So bloody much had happened and changed since Sandor, Sansa and Edar had arrived here in Braavos, that it was a fucking wonder to him at times how he had ever managed to live through it all without a decent long sleep.

  He looked down at the little bird beside him as they made their way to their companions, trying to ignore the shouts of awe the sailors up on deck were giving as they caught sight of Shaggy.

  After a short introduction to the captain of the ship, Beren the Stout, Sandor, Sansa, Rickon and Osha let Davos and Hagen alone to try and keep on convincing the captain to allow Shaggydog on board. Rickon and the wolf were sitting on the floor beside Osha, who was standing beside an empty stall, surveying their surroundings with keen eyes.

  Sandor had steered the little bird a few steps away from her brother and the wilding, wishing to be alone with her during these last moments they spent in Essos, where they had always been able to mingle with the crowd with no raised eyebrows, pointed looks or whispers behind their backs to break the comfortable leisurely life they had come to treasure here. He wrapped his arms around Sansa loosely, his hands on her waist, not caring anymore about hiding his affections. _If we are going to be on the ship, people are bound to find out what’s going on between us anyways_.

  Sansa had smiled at him as he took her hand and led her away from the others, and had rested her head on his breastplate, sighing. They both stood there in silence, lost in their own thoughts, until the little bird suddenly chirped excitedly beside him, “Sandor, look, it seems as if Captain Beren has finally relented.”

  “About bloody time,” he replied, running his hand down Sansa’s soft auburn locks. “The ship is meant to sail in less than half an hour. I wonder how much gold the Onion and Edar had to promise the captain to have him agree to it. Surely the bloody fool must know Baratheon doesn’t have two coins to rub together at present.”

  His bird looked up at him, “Then we should thank the old gods and the new even more for making the captain agree.”

  Sandor snorted, almost rolling his eyes at the little bird’s stubbornness.

_There are no gods, bird,_ he was about to rasp, when Sansa went on, “I can’t believe we are really finally going home. All I ever wanted was to go back to Winterfell since Father died, and now I really _am_.”

  Memories of their time in the Kingswood discussing with the little bird what the best route to take her north could be, and of visits to the bay in Pentos inquiring day after day about any ships that was sailing North flashed across Sandor’s mind; he brought his knuckles to brush gently against Sansa’s cheekbone.

  “I know it took me a while, love,” Sandor told her, staring down intently at Sansa’s beautiful face. “But I am finally taking you to Winterfell like I told you I would.”

  Sansa chuckled at that, and replied in a voice soft as a kiss, “Yes, you are, big man.” 

  Something in the way she said those words–in the way she had trusted herself to him so long ago–tore at him. Sandor hugged Sansa tight to him, pressing his hand to the back of his love’s head, kissing her temple. He closed his eyes for a moment, before he snarled in her ear, his breath on her neck, “You were happy here, then?”

  “Yes, I was. Very much, as you well know, darling,” his little bird replied, cupping his scarred cheek as they drew their heads apart. “So much that I can’t help but wonder if we will be able to be _this_ happy in Westeros.”

  Sandor laughed at her worries, the sound like iron scraping over stone. He grabbed the hand Sansa had on his face, moving it to his chest, above his heart.

  “Oh, that we will be, little bird,” he assured his wife, grinning. “We both know that we are going to have a fucking hard time when we go back, but so long as we have each other, that is all we will ever really need to be happy.”

 

***

 

  The hollow rumbling of the Titan of Braavos echoed off the roofs of the secret city, but at this distance the sound was nothing more than a faraway thunder to Sansa’s ears.  She was standing by the aft of the ship, staring at the horizon, and watching the greatest of the Free Cities of Essos dwindle in the distance with Sandor, her lord and husband standing beside her. He had been holding her hand in a strong grip since the ship sailed away from the harbor, with sailors shouting commands to one another behind them on the deck and the ship’s masts and sails. 

  Hagen Edar, her sworn arrow, was sitting on a corner of the deck upon some old wooden boxes, honing his daggers with Sandor’s wet stones. Lord Davos had gone to have a private talk with Captain Beren, and Osha, Rickon and Shaggydog had gone below to the hold, which was the only empty place on the galley where a grown direwolf could be kept in. _And the only place where poor Shaggy can be kept isolated, away from Stranger and Nan, and the soldiers_.

  “Of what are you thinking?” Sandor suddenly asked her, leaning down to press a kiss on her cheek.

  Sansa lowered her eyes, almost giggling. “I was remembering old Hrolf and his castle by the sea.”

  Sandor stared at her in surprise, blinking. “And why would you remember that old bugger now of all times?”

  “I was remembering the books he made me read to him. About ship lore and such. I was trying to see if I could recall anything that was written in them.”

  “And did you?” Sandor asked her.

  Sansa shook her head. “No.”

  Snorting and ruffling her hair, Sandor sighed, long and deep. “Bloody hells, Hrolf and his castle. Who would have thought back then that the mad outlaw that followed us to that place would end up taking my place as your protector, little bird?”

  Turning around, Sansa placed her hands on the cold metal of Sandor’s breastplate, and said firmly, “I have you to thank for that, darling.”

  Sandor brushed a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “You liked it then? Edar becoming your sworn arrow and all?”

  “Oh, yes, very much,” she replied, nodding. It had moved her beyond words to see Hagen, her dearest friend, bend the knee before her, pledging his life to her service after she had married his predecessor. “But–but, Sandor, could I please ask you to do something for me?”

  Raising an eyebrow at her, Sandor answered, “Sure, anything you want, little bird.”

  “Could you please try and be a little more patient with Hagen?”

  Ever since Osha had told Sansa yesterday before her wedding what the Lorathi would be willing to do for her and Sandor–giving them the only coin he had in this world after his family’s business passed to Bryar–she had felt compelled to talk to Sandor about his short temper with the archer.

  And since both men were very dear to her, she couldn’t really let her husband and protector bicker behind her all day long. She would like to tell Sandor what Hagen had done for them, to see what Sandor thought of Edar then. _But I can’t_. She had given her word to Osha that she would not tell a soul about this.

  Sandor’s mouth started to twitch, and he regarded her with a long deep stare before saying quietly, “You know, Hagen’s already told me what happened between him and the High Sheep.”

  “Really?” Sansa asked, surprised. “And what did he say?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” her big man replied, sparing a look in the Lorathi’s direction. Sansa nodded, glancing discreetly over at Hagen.

  “Look, bird,” her husband said, pointing to the right. “We can barely see the Titan now.”

  Sansa turned her head around to look across the pounding sea at the mighty statue, no bigger than an anthill by now in the distance. Her thoughts took her back to the evening in which she had first arrived on eastern shores, looking at Pentos loom closer, wondering what adventures awaited her in the fabled lands across the Narrow Sea. And just as when she had first arrived at Pentos aboard _The Summer Bird_ , Sansa recalled evenings from long ago gathered around the fire with her brothers and her sister, listening to Old Nan tell them stories about boys who stowed away on trading galleys and sailed off to adventures.

  Her time in Essos with Sandor had been the most fulfilling experience she could have ever hoped for. For rather than finding happiness as the queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Sansa had come to know true love with Sandor Clegane, growing in the process, healing from the wounds she had been made to suffer and silently endure in King’s Landing.

  She had come here as Sansa Stark, seeking shelter; a scared and tormented little girl fleeing for her life, who had entrusted herself to a man that was practically a stranger to her. And now she was going back home to Westeros as Lady Sansa Clegane, a woman married with the weight of the North upon her young shoulders.

  _I must be brave, like Robb_ , Sansa told herself then, turning around to watch her husband’s burned profile beside her, only to find that rather than staring at the beautiful view before them, Sandor was already regarding her with a soft look in his eyes, the grey in them looking as calm as a northern sea after a winter storm.

  Sandor put his huge hand on her waist, pulling her closer to him, and rasped, “Come, little bird. There is nothing to see here anymore.”

  _He was right in that_ , Sansa thought. There was nothing to stare at that belonged to the east anymore. It made no matter. They were done with those precious carefree days. The end to their life in Essos had come and gone by now.

  Sansa drew up her hood against the wind as Sandor led her across the deck. She didn’t like being aboard a ship so soon once again, since they always made her grow seasick and dizzy, but at least Sansa had needed so far only her big man’s strong arm for support to steady her.

  When they reached the other side of the ship, the one that faced the west and the Seven Kingdoms, Sandor stepped behind Sansa and encircled her in his arms. _Sandor said that we would be back, and that everything would be fine somehow when we first arrived in Essos_. Westeros shouldn’t be so very different. _Our lives still hang on the balance of our decisions_. Only now there was Rickon, Hagen and the remains of her family’s loyal bannermen to take into account. _And the children Sandor and I will have too, one day._

As she stood there in Sandor’s arms, leaning against his chest, gazing across the blue horizon towards Westeros, and feeling the cold wind caressing her hair, she grabbed the rail for support and closed her eyes, feeling salt spray drench her face at once. It was refreshing, and at last Sansa allowed herself to remember. It felt so nice to feel so loved in moments such as these.

  Sansa’s big man leaned his head down so he could place a kiss softly on her cheek then, making her smile since his beard tickled her in this position. She tilted her neck up so she could look Sandor in the eyes. When he brought his lips to claim her mouth, Sansa sighed and threw her arms loosely around Sandor’s neck, closing her eyes, for this was the taste of dreams.

  She could recall every detail of her wedding night with vivid clarity, knowing she would treasure the memories till the day she drew her last breath. From the moment Sandor had come back to their room at the inn, to the last time he had taken her.

  _There was still some discomfort, but somehow I fear that making love to him will quickly become as necessary to me as breathing or eating._ It wouldn’t matter if what she wanted to feel was raw passionate pleasure, or comfort, or reassurance, or simply to be loved. Whatever she could come to need, her big man would surrender it to her completely.

  But not only in bed would Sansa need her husband now. She didn’t have to face the looming dangers of the game of thrones alone. Sansa could always lean on Sandor, and he on her. Like he had told her before they came aboard _The King of the Seas_ , so long as they had each other, as their love was strong and hope lingered, she shouldn’t fear the long hard road ahead of her; of them.

  Winter was here, and the North was calling Sansa.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! So honoured that you are still doing so, and I sincerely hope you liked their last hours in Essos :D Reviews are love <3


	41. Across the Narrow Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> * To my dearest onborrowedwings: thank you for being such a wonderful beta, my friend! D  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

_The King of the Seas_ had been a bloody good choice for the rough waters of the Narrow Sea, Sandor had grudgingly admitted to The Onion Knight, as they took a moment from all the careful planning they’d been conducting about what they should do once they reached the shores of Westeros. Sandor hadn’t been very sure that Beren the Stout’s galley had really been the best choice from among the other ships available to them back in Ragman’s Harbour, but by now he had to relent and agree with Hagen Edar that they had been lucky to end up meeting Seaworth- who still seemed to remember his old trait well enough, and who Sandor was starting to come to respect to his surprise.

_I would never have thought I’d have interests in common with Stannis’ sodding smuggler_ , Sandor would think, whenever he managed to have The Onion agree with him some of the high lords or knight puffed up like bladders with their honors they had both met over the years. And so long as they didn’t start comparing their views about Stannis Rigid Baratheon, all went well.

  The galley had been two weeks at sea so far, sailing beneath grey skies with the days and the nights all running together one after the other. But Sandor could not complain, since so far the sea voyage had been calm enough, considering that autumn gales had hounded The Onion, Osha and Rickon across the narrow sea after they’d left Skagos but a short while back.

  _But we are not in autumn anymore_ , Sandor reminded himself, looking across the grey and choppy waters of the Narrow Sea. Autumn storms were more frequent than winter ones, he knew, but the latter were worse. Yet the most that passengers on board _The King_ could only complain of was the black rain that had fallen for four days a week ago, accompanied by thunder and lightning by night.

  Captain Beren the Stout had told them that he reckoned the sea voyage would take about a month or maybe even more, yet there were times though when Sandor found himself wishing that the journey would last a while longer, for even if the days were fucking cold and grim, he had never been happier. The time he had so far spent with the little bird in their cramped cabin beneath the stern castle had seen to that.

  “She is keeping a brave face, you know,” Sandor suddenly heard himself rasp out loud, as he stood on the deck beside Seaworth one morning. “For all of our sakes.”

  Davos turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow, confused. “A brave face? What-?”

  “Sansa,” Sandor explained, lowering his voice, and looking behind him to make sure none of the sailors were nearby. “Her belly can’t stand much food, and she hates the motion of the ship, but she eats everything nonetheless, and even washes it down with ale when there is no chance to boil the water.”

  Sansa had thankfully not grown _as_ seasick as she’d been the three previous times they’d boarded a ship, but Sandor knew that only being able to eat oaten porridge in the mornings, pea porridge in the afternoons, and salt cod, salt beef, or salt mutton every single sodding night was not something the little bird looked forward to. If there was anyone who was finding the journey rougher than the others, then it was certainly her- not that she ever said a word of complaint about it **.**

  “You know, Clegane,” Davos said, turning around to regard Sandor with a curious expression. “The world isn’t going to be happy about your marriage to the Lady Sansa.”

  “Don’t you think I fucking know that?” Sandor spat at once, scowling. He was used to receiving hard looks and far worse things by bastards who thought themselves better than they really were, and had been ready for a long time now to face all the suspicion and resentment that was awaiting him in the Seven Kingdoms.

  “All of those poxy gnats can go bugger itself with a hot poker for all that it will matter,” Sandor snarled roughly. “Sansa knew who I was, and she chose me willingly nonetheless. I thought you knew that by now, smuggler.”

   “You didn’t let me finish,” Davos answered, patiently. “I was going to tell you that it is a rare thing to find a man who wouldn’t mind walking one step behind his wife, allowing her as much liberty as you will the Lady Sansa.”

Sandor actually laughed at that, the tension ebbing away from him. **“** I am not ashamed of being a Clegane, Seaworth. But I _do_ know that as a Stark she was meant for great things, and I won’t try and stop her from achieving them.”

  “No, I don’t believe you would,” Davos agreed. “It could take years but with time they may all stop thinking of you as the Hound. If we defeat the Lannisters and survive this winter, I hope the North comes to appreciate you for making Ned Stark’s daughter happy at least. And I hope they do not resent you for trying to help their liege lord cope with all that has happened to him as he grows up.”

  That was something Sandor highly doubted would ever happen, but he knew why the Onion was telling him this. For here on _The King of the Seas,_ the little bird had finally started to behave more like her old self. The loss of Robb Stark and her mother was still too painful toher to brood upon it much, but at least she was once again laughing often and openly, and Sandor could tell that she was as happy as he was with the way married life was turning out for both of them.

  Though his little wife still preferred to spend her days below decks, there were times when Sansa had surprised him by joining him on the ship’s pow, with Edar three steps behind her, already taking up the role of Sansa’s sworn arrow seriously. In the past weeks Sandor had discovered that standing by the ship’s prow was a good place for him to go and try to clear his thoughts. And unsurprisingly, his thoughts, whether they were concerns or hopes, revolved around the little bird. _Every day she shows me a life I thought I would never know ever since Gregor burned my face all those years ago_.

  But Sandor never spent too long a time away from the cabin he and his wife shared, for not only did he not like one bloody bit leaving Sansa alone for too long, regardless of whether Hagen was with her or not, but also because now that Sansa was his wife, there was no way in seven hells Sandor was going to keep on controlling himself any longer.

  Fucking had become a necessity to them, and in the darkness of the ship’s cabin, Sansa gave herself to Sandor with no restraints, becoming bolder with every passing day, to the point where he was left having a hard time catching his breath and regaining his senses, amazed at the boldness his little bird was frequently displaying around him now whenever they were alone.

  Sandor could still remember the way he’d felt this morning, with Sansa calling his name, wrapped all around him as she came. He had lost it then and fucked her faster, spilling himself inside of her with a loud groan, happy in the knowledge that this was a side of his bird that no one else would ever come to see or know but him.

  “Thank you, Seaworth,” Sandor said suddenly, bringing himself back to the present moment, knowing he was grateful for the recognition Davos had just spoken about.

  The former smuggler nodded. They both fell silent until Sandor rasped, “Sansa has agreed with what you said yesterday by the way.”

  “Agreed about The Three Sisters?” the Onion wondered, looking mildly surprised.

  “Yes,” Sandor answered. “Just because Borrell helped you and his father helped Ned Stark it doesn’t mean he would be willing to do the same for Stark’s children.”

  The Onion had told them about his last visit to these islands, after his famous friend, the Lysene pirate Salladhor Saan, had left him there rather than taking him all the way to White Harbour as Stannis had commanded him.

  Sandor and the little bird had exchanged a meaningful look as Seaworth went on with his tale, remembering that the ship that had taken them to Pentos had belonged to Saan, but neither said anything to Davos about it.

  Afterwards, Sandor had breathed in relief after the little bird had seen reason last night. Everyone knew that The Three Sisters were fickle bitches, loyal only to themselves, rather than to the Arryns. And even if the little bird’s mad aunt hadn’t been murdered by a sodding singer, leaving the Vale in hands of Littlefinger in the process, Sandor would have still not deemed it wise to take Sansa to those rotten islands where they would have to end up buying their passage out of it in the end anyways- _if_ they were discovered first by Borrell.

  Seaworth was looking thoughtfully across the water as he said, “I’m glad then, but it’s a pity I will not get to try sister’s stew any time soon.”

  Before Sandor could even have time to blink, a sudden loud scream of, “There you are!” interrupted them.

  Sandor and Seaworth both turned quickly around at that, to see Rickon making his way to them. Sandor found himself smiling down at the young boy in approval, even as The Onion asked the lad, “And where have you left Osha, my lord?”

  “She stayed with Shaggy and Sansa down in the hold,” Rickon answered, standing before them with two brooms in his hands. “Sandor, can we fight now? Will these two work? They’re the only ones the sailors let me have.”

  “Later Rickon, but these will do,” Sandor answered, taking one of the brooms and examining it with a snort. “Just don’t let Shaggydog near these ones again or we will be left with no more swords to practice with.”

  “I won’t,” the boy promised him at once, nodding eagerly. “Shaggydog won’t get to bite these ones.”

  _He really is taking this training business seriously_ , Sandor thought proudly; glad at how quickly his future liege lord had warmed up to him, and did not mind him for marrying his sister. For even if Bran Stark was found, Sandor doubted he would ever be able to sire children after his fall, therefore making Rickon the Stark of Winterfell once he came of age. _And not until Rickon marries and sires children, the pups and birdlings I have with the little bird will be heirs to Winterfell as well_. Sandor did not like to brood much on that.

  At least it was a good thing that they had found Rickon before Davos turned him over to the northern lords, or else he would have been kept under their clutches for as long as they could have it so. _And I reckon they would have given been too concerned with correcting Rickon’s upbringing after the way the boy turned out to be like after Skagos_. By what Seaworth had so far told Sandor and Sansa, the Skagosi had welcomed Rickon into their midst, and the boy had warmed up to their customs easily enough.

  The lad was wild and energetic, and even if he was difficult to handle, Sandor had not been Joff’s shield for years for nothing. He had gathered that if there was anyone who could help the boy, it was him.

  Rickon’s energy and time could be spent in something worthwhile, and that is where the idea of starting to train the boy at swordmanship had come from. But since archery was easier than swordfighting, Hagen had began teaching Rickon to practice with his bow and arrow first, sending all the sailors running around the deck whenever the two were practicing, afraid that they would accidentally hits someone with an arrow.

  “He was too little to have started learning how to fight when we left Winterfell,” the little bird had told Sandor the night before Sandor started training Rickon, as they ate their dinner, scooting over until her thighs were touching his under the table. “I am not sure if Ser Rodrik ever got the chance to teach him how to fight with a blunted edge tourney sword.”

  Snorting with contempt, Sandor had snarled, “I don’t think your master-at-arms ever trained Rickon, little bird.”

  “Yes,” Sansa had agreed with a sigh, leaning into him. “With the war and all breaking out so soon, I doubt little Rickon ever even got to drill in the yard.”

  Sandor didn’t say anything after that for a while, remembering a morning long ago in the courtyard of Winterfell where he had mocked the great stout keg of a man that Cassel had been for thinking that Robb Stark and Joffrey had been too young to fight with anything but blunt swords at an age where most men were already being treated like grown men whether they wanted it or not.

  _I wonder what the old fool would have to say if he were to learn that I married Sansa, and that Rickon is now under my care_ , Sandor thought for a moment. But he guessedthat it didn’t really matter. Cassel was probably long dead, and couldn’t care less.

  Yet regardless of what he had told the man about his training methods, Sandor _did_ think it better for Rickon to start learning in more or less the same manner as Brandon Stark and Prince Tommen had trained back in Winterfell when they were made to fight one other. But since Sandor and Rickon lacked padded wooden swords on the galley, Sandor had gathered that the next best thing was to train with a pair of some of the ship’s brooms.

  There was something about Rickon that reminded Sandor of himself when he’d been young, from before and even after he was burned. _There was a lot of hurt and loneliness and anger in me back then and there is in Rickon too_. But Sandor had had no one to help him learn how to live and cope with his anger, whereas Rickon did. Maybe that was why Sandor found himself siding with the boy whenever he refused to do clean up or speak correctly or remember his manners. _There will be time for him to learn all that soon enough anyways_. Better that he got to enjoy these last carefree days like a boy of six was supposed to do.

  And maybe that was also the reason why he had defended Rickon so readily four days ago against his sister, causing Sandor and Sansa to have their first true bloody disagreement since their wedding.

  It had all started after the boy had yet again begun telling Sandor how much he was looking forward to showing Robb how good he was getting along with their training lessons.

  “And Mother too, I bet!” Rickon had exclaimed, before running off below decks, leaving a frowning Sandor holding two brooms in his hands on the deck, as he brooded upon the meaning of what had just happened.

  He had always hated liars, and keeping the boy in the dark about the fates of his brother and mother didn’t seem right to Sandor, despite the boy’s young age. He knew that Osha and the Onion Knight had kept the truth hidden from him in an attempt to shield him from the world after all the shit that had happened to him, but now that the little bird was showing signs of being perfectly content with delaying telling her brother the truth too, Sandor had known that it had all gone too fucking far.

  “You are doing the same as your parents did with you, Sansa,” he had pointed out to the bird later that day, back in their cabin. “And that turned out bad for you, didn’t it?”

  Sansa had flinched at that, before narrowing her eyes and answering, “I _have_ thought about it, but Sandor, he is not even _seven_.”

  “Seven hells, so?” he’d replied, shrugging that defense away. “He won’t be a boy forever, little bird, but Lord Stark soon enough. As your father and brother’s heir he needs to _know_. You can’t protect him by hiding him behind your skirts. I am teaching him how to fight back and not let the world fuck him over again without a good struggle, but what good is that if he goes on believing that he will meet your mother again as soon as he is back North, and keeps on telling everyone about how much he is looking forward to it?”

  The little bird’s lips had trembled as he went on, and for a moment Sandor had almost felt like a bastard as he wondered if he had driven her to tears by making her face the hard truth, but once he was done Sansa simply and silently sat on the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands, sighing, considering his words.

  Sandor had stood rooted to the spot, wishing he could go over to comfort, but he knew that it wouldn’t do any good this time. She needed to realize that what he was telling her was for her brother’s sake, and in the end, she had.

  Raising her beautiful face to meet his, Sansa had finally stood up and said in a strong voice, while she looked every bit the strong northern wolf that she had become, “Very well. He’ll know as soon as we reach Westeros. You know how wild he becomes when upset. I don’t think it wise for him to learn this while we are on the ship. When Shaggy senses his anger, he could end up killing someone.” 

  “Aye, and I reckon that wouldn’t be good,” Sandor had agreed.  

  For a moment they had looked at each other hard, but the tension in the air quickly vanished, as Sandor watched his wife’s pretty features softening under his gaze. He ended up holding out his arms to Sansa, and in the blink of an eye Sandor was pulling little bird to his chest, kissing the top of her head as he ran his hand through her soft hair.

  “If you need me when the time comes,” Sandor had growled, “I’ll be there beside you. You don’t have to do it alone, love.”

  “I know,” Sansa had replied, hugging him tighter. “I know.”

  Sandor was brought back to the present as the smuggler suddenly said to Rickon, “How is Shaggydog doing? I overheard some of the sailors saying that they couldn’t sleep thanks to him last night.”

  Rickon shrugged. “He doesn’t like to be kept locked away down there. I told him that he could only come on the ship if he behaved, but he didn’t listen to me.”

  “At least there hasn’t been a need to chain him up,” Seaworth pointed out, scratching the back of his head with the hand that still had all his fingers.

  “Shaggy doesn’t like chains,” the lad reminded them for the hundredth time, rolling his eyes at the Onion’s words.

  “I wonder what he _does_ like,” the smuggler had replied, the shadow of a smile upon his face as he looked down at Rickon. “Besides Stranger, that is.”

  Sansa’s brother had shrugged, before replying, “Destroying our brooms?”

  Sandor laughed with The Onion at that, but he was in truth relieved that the direwolf hadn’t caused any problems so far with the sailors. The captain had ordered his men to keep away from the hold where he had been placed, and so far the men had obeyed. _They can’t go ten steps close to the door that’s barring the wolf in without pissing themselves_.

  The poxy sailors had all looked on with eyes big as saucers the first time they saw him taking down Stranger to the hold where the direwolf was kept, Sandor remembered now with a grin.

  At first the little bird had not agreed to have Rickon teach Shaggydog how to get use to Stranger’s presence, fearing Rickon, him, and the animals could end up hurting each other, but after Sandor had pointed out that it was not only necessary to improve Rickon’s behaviour and to tame Shaggydog, but also because it was required for high lords to be good with weapons and commanding men.

  “And your brother had three experts to teach him, bird,” Sandor had told Sansa as an afterthought, when he was done. “But who will train Shaggydog if not us to attack any of the Baratheon lords? You know how wild he is, and if it were to happen Stannis could demand that the wolf be put to death just as it happened with yours, or at least Rigid Baratheon would command to have the direwolf chained permanently.”

  Sansa had relented after those words, so now Sandor was teaching Rickon how to train Shaggy daily, while the boy kept on practicing his archery with Edar, and had also begun to learn how to use daggers in a fight, as well as having Osha teach him lacing, and The Onion Knight everything he knew of shipwright and sealore.

  Yet by far the most difficult training that had happened aboard the galley had been the one involving Sandor, Rickon, Shaggydog and Stranger.

  Since the direwolf had a better temper than Stranger had when Sandor had first bought him as a colt, and since Sandor knew how to train dogs as well, and dogs were not so different to wolves, he had thought it really wouldn’t be that hard at first to train Stranger and Shaggydog to get accustomed to each other’s presence down in the hold of the ship, but he had been damned wronged about that.

  The bad tempered beasts at first hated each other, and more than once they had been certain that given chance, they would attack each other instantly, but since Sandor and Rickon were there to calm the animals, over the weeks the warhorse and the direwolf finally became friends.

  By now they were so protective of each other that Shaggydog would snarl at anyone who wasn’t Sansa, Rickon or Sandor if they approached Stranger; and the destrier would in turn neigh menacingly to anyone who was not the bird or him or Rickon, if they approached the wolf when he was peacefully resting nearby.

  After exchanging a few more words with the Onion and with Rickon, Sandor left them, wondering if the little bird was done with her visit to Shaggydog as he quickly grabbed a wineskin from the ship’s reek-smelling kitchen. He went below decks to their cramped cabin, but Sansa wasn’t there. Sandor sighed in disappointment, unbuckling his swordbelt and placing it beside the narrow sleeping shelf, shaking his head in still amazed at the way he and Sansa were able to both fit in it.

  _This is definitely better than that cabin in_ The Summer Bird _though_ , Sandor thought, glad that at least in this cabin he was able to stretch his legs, since it wasn’t as low or as cramped as the other one had been. And even if the two bedrolls he and Sansa had bought back in Lorath could not be compared to a real bed, neither him nor the little bird had seemed to mind the uncomfortable sleeping arrangements, as they always made the best of every night they’d spent aboard _The King of the Seas_. 

  Sandor sat down on the sleeping shelf, smirking at those memories and leaning his back against the wooden wall, taking a long drink from the skin, closing his eyes, deciding he would wait here for Sansa to come back. He didn’t have to wait long though. Less than ten minutes had passed by when he heard footsteps on the hallway outside, and his little bird’s voice saying, “Thank you, Hagen. I am going to take a nap now. No, please, _do_ go. I will see you later.”

  Sandor undressed his bird with his eyes as she opened the door and gave a little surprised, “Oh!” when she saw him, a beaming smile appearing on her face at once at the sight of him.

  “Darling!” she exclaimed, shutting the door behind her in the blink of an eye, before quickly reaching him in three steps.

  Sandor grinned back at her as he grabbed her by the waist, steadying her while she unceremoniously seated herself on his lap, still smiling down at him. She threw her arms around him, clinging to his neck as she hugged him as tightly as if she hadn’t seen him only this morning.

  “I missed you, little bird,” Sandor rasped, hugging her back, smiling into the crook of her neck, kissing her there.

  “I didn’t wake you up, did I?” his bird asked him, as he shifted his weight upon the sleeping shelf, grabbing Sansa by her firm round arse to keep her from falling down. “I am sorry if I did.”

  “You didn’t,” he answered, meeting her beautiful Tully blue eyes with his as she rubbed her nose against his, sliding her knuckles against his good cheek and down to his neck.

  “I missed you too,” she continued, kissing him quickly in between each word. “So very much.”

  Sandor claimed her mouth after her last words, kissing her deeply. His little wife kissing him back eagerly, opening her mouth for him at once. When they broke apart long moments later, Sandor observed with a raised eyebrow, “I thought you were planning on taking a nap, Sansa Clegane.”

  _Sansa Clegane_. Sandor loved calling her that, even if he knew the world would hate it- not only because of his own past as The Hound, but because the Cleganes were landed gentry, with Sandor’s father and Gregor having been no more than landed knights, a step above a hedge knight, whereas the little bird was a Stark of Winterfell, and daughter to the mighty Eddard Stark, of a line eight thousand years old.

  Sandor was now a lord due to his marriage to one of the ladies of highest rank in Westeros, but not one formally. He knew that the North would not warm up to him either way, and had therefore asked the bird to please keep her maiden name of Stark, since her father and brother’s bannermen would resent her if she went about calling herself a Clegane. Sansa would be Lady Sansa or Lady Stark to the world, but to him, in moments such as these, she was just his wife, his little bird. _Sansa Clegane_.

  “That was just to send Hagen away,” his little bird admitted now, her cheeks flushed from their kiss while she ran her fingers through his hair. “He seems to think that there is danger awaiting me around in every corner of this ship. Even in here.”

  He snorted, but could not say he disapproved of what Hagen was doing. Moving his hand in circles on Sansa’s thigh, Sandor said, “He is only doing his duty.”

  His bird sighed, running her fingertips above his mouth, staring at his half scarred lips intently before confessing, “Yes I know. I- I _am_ really grateful to Hagen for becoming my sworn arrow. I really am, but he follows me everywhere, big man.”

  “That’s the point, little bird,” Sandor said, even as he sucked one of Sansa’s long fingers into his mouth. After a moment he had to let it go so he could say, “And you better get used to it, my bird. If all goes well in the end, he is going to be stuck with us forever.”

  “But doesn’t he get tired of it?” she wondered, resting her head against his.

  “I’m sure he will soon if he hasn’t already,” Sandor replied, as the rumble of his throat betrayed how he was starting to feel, while he twirled a lock of auburn hair between his fingers. “But that’s not the bloody point.”

  Sansa smiled at that, chucking softly in resignation as she answered, “No, I guess it is not.”

  She brought her mouth to his and then they were touching and kissing roughly once again, Sandor feeling the tightness in his breeches increase as the little bird straddled him, moaning as he pressed her closer down on him by her arse. As he kissed the line of her jaw, his bird’s hands moved down between them so she could start unlacing his breeches, making him jerk his hips upwards at once, a gasp of pleasure escaping him even as his hands fumbled with the laces on the back of Sansa’s dress in return.

  Sandor grinned, the scars on half of his pace pulling tight, for he knew by now what it was that Sansa wanted to do to him, as her eyes turned dark with lust and her mouth opened in a little wide O.

 

***

 

  Sansa was sitting up on the narrow bunk bed of the cabin, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she stared down at Sandor sleeping with a little contented smile on her face, wishing these idle moments could last forever. Her husband’s tunic was open to reveal his neck, and Sansa was already raising her hand towards it so she could slide it inside the tunic and caress the hairy chest underneath. 

  Her big man was snoring as he slept on with the peaceful expression upon his features that Sansa loved so much, for she was the only one who ever got to see it. Sansa had woken up this morning from a serene slumber, stretching upon the narrow bunk bed beside Sandor, promising to herself that the day she and Sandor moved to Winterfell, she would commission a bed big enough for ten people to sleep in for herself and her big man.

  Last night, as Sandor made love to her, and Sansa had clenched the bed roll underneath her in a strong grip due to the rough manner in which he took her, she had feared for a moment that they would both fall from the bunk bed due to the force of their thrusting.  Thankfully nothing of the sort had happened, and when they were done, Sandor had only exhaled raggedly into the crook of her neck, with their hair plastered to their faces as Sansa wondered how it was even possible to feel so alive, so _good_.

  But that had been hours ago. In this moment she was watching the rise and fall of Sandor’s powerful warm strong chest, with her hand resting above his heart, recalling the way he had groaned every time she had traced the battle scars upon it with her eyes and hands and mouth until the point where they were as familiar to Sansa as the ones she carried within her soul and upon her body ever since King’s Landing.

  _Yet Joffrey never managed to leave a mark upon my soul the way Sandor did,_ Sansa gathered, still smiling as her mind drifted away to the memories of their travels and adventures in Essos yet again. There was a chance that one day a song would be written about those times. _About the princess in exile and how she fell so deeply in love with her scarred sworn shield_.

  Suppressing a giggle as she imagined Sandor’s reaction if he were to learn what she was thinking, Sansa brought her eyes to rest on her husband’s face, only to find that he was already awake, and was looking at her sleepily. Yet he returned her grin when she whispered, “Good morning, husband” and lowered herself until she was lying beside Sandor, her head resting on his shoulder.

  Sandor took hold of the hand she had above his heart so they could start playing with each other’s fingers, and closed his eyes, grunting, “Morning, wife.”

  Silence fell between them for a long moment, but no matter how much she tried, Sansa could not fall back to sleep. Not even if resting here with her big man felt wonderful and peaceful.

  “Darling?” she whispered, wondering if Sandor had already fallen back to sleep.

  When he did not answer her, yet failed to pretend he was snorting, Sansa smiled, biting Sandor’s shoulder beneath her lightly as she nudged his leg with her knee, calling to him once more.

  “What?” he finally replied, still sleepy as he opened one eye to regard her with slight amusement.

  “Dearest, we have to get dressed or else we will be late for breakfast again,” she told her big man softly.

  “Since when are you so eager to eating the cook’s food, little bird?” he wanted to know, the low rumble of his rasping voice sending a warm fluttering feeling to begin in Sansa’s tummy.

  Chuckling, and pressing herself closer to him, Sansa reminded him that the cook had promised her to bake me some lemoncakes this morning. Sansa had not been able to eat much of the ship’s cooking with enthusiasm, and had been startled when the cook had searched her out two days ago, demanding to know the reason why.

  After she had explained to him about her seasickness, and he had asked her what was her favorite food in the entire world. When she answered that lemoncakes were her favorite, the man had told her she was lucky, for there were still some lemons he had yet to cook, and which he would be using on a dozen warm lemoncakes for her this morning.

  “Don’t get your feathers all ruffled up,” Sandor snorted, shifting on the bed bunk so he could lean his forehead on hers, while he gave her a soft kiss and placed his knee between her legs. “Bet they will taste like horse’s shit-”

  Before he could even finish Sansa pressed a kiss on Sandor’s mouth and said against his lips stubbornly, “No, they won’t.”

  Blinking at her in surprise, Sandor watched her in silence as she sat up on the narrow bunk bed again and stretched her arms behind her head. She gave a little sigh when Sandor suddenly ran his rough calloused hand down her bare back, and lay perfectly still as he sat up as well a moment later and hugged her from behind, his arms pressing her into him, loving the way it felt to have his breath fanning her neck.

  “We have to get dressed,” Sansa sighed again, remembering at last the cook’s lemoncakes.

  “Very well,” her big man replied, suddenly letting go of her and going on one knee before her on the wooden floor. Sansa watched with an amused expression as Sandor reached out for one of her gowns and rasped with a grin as his mouth twitched, “I’ll help you, little bird.”

  Feeling butterflies on her tummy at once at the way her big man’s eyes darkened with lust, Sansa had smiled as Sandor had placed one of her feet on his chest, and had started kissing her leg, forgetting her gown on the floor beside him.

  The lemoncakes were not as bad as Sandor had predicted, but even after she had eaten five of them, Sansa’s tummy remained as queasy as it had always been in her previous experiences aboard ships. She still hated the motion of the ship, and the way the deck rolled beneath her feet, but at least on _this_ journey, rather than spending her time feeling greensick and nervous, she was actually happy. Even though Robb and her lady mother were not awaiting her back home, Sansa had Sandor and Rickon with her, along with friends that loved them both; even if they seemed to enjoy shooting meaningful glances in their direction whenever they dismissed themselves early from dinner, or were suddenly interrupted as they kissed.

  Hagen would always wink at them and laugh, while Osha would simply roll her eyes Edar and tell him to mind his own business. Lord Davos would study in these occasions, her and Sandor carefully, still sighing in a manner that made it clear to them that he was still finding it hard at times to believe they were really married, and thanks to him in some way.

  Sansa would always laugh and blush on all of these occasions, while Sandor barked at them all to mind their own business after he had rasped a curse to them. But both Sansa and her big man knew that their companions meant them no ill will in the end, and were already quickly adjusting to the sight of them together behaving as man and wife.

  _It’s the rest of the world the one that should concern us_ , Sansa reasoned, after she and Sandor had made love one night, both of them lying on their backs upon the narrow sleeping shelf, holding each other in the darkness of their cabin on the night when Captain Beren had broached a cask of firewine to fortify the sailors spirits.

  Sandor, Sansa, Rickon, Hagen, Osha and Lord Davos had been dining on salt mutton, laughing and exchanging tales as they forgot for one evening the difficult road ahead of them, when the captain had come down to offer them some firewine as well.

  Sansa had tried a cup herself for the first time, trying desperately not to cough and failing miserably when she felt hot snakes wriggling down her throat and through her chest, driving everyone present to bursts of laughter, and Sandor to pat her on the back, laughing that rasping, racous laughter of his louder than anybody else.

  This time with Sandor aboard _The King of the Seas_ had been everything Sansa could ever have hoped to find in a marriage that was full of love and trust and care the way her relationship with Sandor was, now that they really knew each other completely in every possible way **.** Many times in the past she had not believed she would ever be able to love Sandor Clegane more than she already did at that time, but she had been wrong.

  As they journeyed across the Narrow Sea, Sansa had started to learn how to cope with the pain of what had happened to her family. And even if it had been hard at first to learn how to live with that sense of loss, her love for Sandor was burned so deeply in her heart that it had been easier for the last couple of weeks than she would have imagined to enjoy her new life as Sandor’s wife.

  Sansa had found out that making love with Sandor was fun and new, and empowering, and never failed to be passionate and tender and wonderful all at once, even in the beginning when she had found herself fumbling awkwardly with Sandor’s laces, or when she asked him, blushing all the while, if he would show her how to please him in return. Both her big man and she were trying to make the most of their time on the ship, treasuring every chance they could to be together, because they knew that once the journey aboard _The King of the Seas_ was done, they were not going to be allowed as much time to enjoy each other due to the war in all fronts, while they tried to keep themselves and Rickon alive.

  Sansa could not allow herself to forget that there was more to life than the sweet feeling of being safe falling asleep in Sandor’s arms made her feel. So far, by what Sansa could tell though, everyone else seemed to be enjoying the sea journey too.

  Rickon was very happy with the training Sandor, Osha, Hagen and The Onion Knight were imparting to him every day, making Sansa thank the Old Gods and the New for the quick manner in which Rickon warmed up to Sandor, aware that not many young boys would have reacted thus upon meeting The Hound.

  Her little brother was also enjoying the time he spent with the galley’s sailors, and would always bring back tales of strange and wondrous happenings from the wide world, about wars and rains of toads and dragons hatching **,** the latter making Sansa recall that Arman Nervere had spoken to her about dragons and a Targaryen princess in exile, back in Great Norvos.

  _Arman told me once that_ _the wind that blew people across the narrow sea seldom blew them back_ , Sansa remembered. _Yet he was wrong about that just as he was of so much else_.

  Sansa’s brother was also learning sailor’s japes and riddles, along with tricks and even curses, which made her suppose that it was a good thing her brother and future liege lord seemed willing to learn about other people’s lives and tribulations by himself, just the way their father had once done long ago.

  Stranger and Shaggydog’s growing friendship was also a matter to make not only Rickon, but every member of their little company happy. And as to their companions, Osha would only mutter when asked how she was finding the journey that as long as the ship didn’t sink **,** she was well content. Lord Davos spent most of his days with Captain Beren, or discussing plans with Sandor or taking Rickon to different parts of the ship each day to learn shiplore and shipwright.

  Hagen Edar, on the other hand, would spent his days aboard _The King of the Seas_ either following Sansa around like a shadow, teaching Rickon archery, or receiving lessons from Osha about the Common Tongue. Sansa and Sandor would always laugh whenever the Lorathi started pronouncing words with a wildling accent. So far Hagen was proving to be such a good sworn arrow, that in took less than no time for her to start thinking of Hagen as her own personal Kingsguard.

  _I will make him a grey cloak with a direwolf embroided on it as soon as I can_ , she promised to herself one day, watching the former Lorathi outlaw teach Rickon how to play dice one afternoon, as she reflected on everything that Sandor had told her about Edar’s past troubles with Arman Nervere.

  A month after their departure from Braavos, they finally came upon the sight of Westeros, with _The King of the Seas_ rounding the east coast of The Fingers after they had sailed west and then north and then west again around the Narrow Sea. The first sign of land the people aboard the galley had was a great grey bird flying high above them. Sansa could tell at once that all she had ever heard about this place was sadly true though.

  _It does indeed look like a cold, dismal_ _place_ , she thought, standing on deck, watching the uninviting bare and stony strand of windswept and treeless land that stretched off the bow of the ship. Yet even so this was the most welcoming sight she had seen in a long time for what it represented.

  For not only was she at long last finally gazing upon the Seven Kingdoms once again, but also because _The King_ had been a long while clawing its way back on course. The last of the two storms they had suffered on this sea voyage had had swept them out of sight of land, sending such waves crashing over the sides of the galley that Sansa had been certain they were all going to drown, and no attempt from Sandor to reassure her that this was a good sound ship had made any difference as it was happening. She had overheard Captain Beren tell the cook that one man had fallen from the mast and broken his neck during the storm, while another one had been swept overboard.

  Thankfully, there were no treacherous currents in these waters, and after The Fingers dwindled to no more than a few dark shapes in the sky that might have been mistaken for thunderheads, or the tops of tall black mountains, or both, _The King of the_ Seas struck north and then west across The Bite for the shores of White Harbour.

  It began to seem to Sansa then as if the ship was flying across these northern waters, with the wind in the sails and the days running together after they had passed by the massive and mountainous bleak grey peaks that were The Three Sisters, rising up from the imposing sea, as she and Rickon stood on the forecastle of the ship with Hagen Edar at their side. 

  Their little company had spent many days and evenings planning the careful measures they would all have to take if they meant to survive the hard road ahead of them. Sansa had waited for so long to be back in the North, and yet she had never imagined the sort of arrival she Rickon and Sandor would have to take until they could learn how matters stood with the Manderlys; an arrival clad in secrecy as she, Sandor, Osha and Rickon hid in the wild waiting for Lord Davos and Edar to return to them from White Harbour with further proof beyond what they had been told back in Braavos.

Sansa shook her head, straightening her shoulders as she smiled down at her brother. There was so little certainty in regards to all of their futures. _Only winter is certain in this world_. Sansa knew what dangers awaited her, Sandor and Rickon as soon as they got off this ship, but she was not frightened of them.

  In the months she had spent away from Westeros Sansa had acquired a strength that made her feel determined that one day she would be back in Winterfell, with Rickon restored to her father and Robb’s seat in they never heard from Bran again. _And maybe we will Arya with us too by spring if they are still alive_. _Bran, Arya and Jon as well_. It would be so sweet to see them all again.

  Her musings were suddenly interrupted when Rickon exclaimed, yet again, “We should go to The Sisters.”

  Sansa shook her head, running her fingers through her brother’s hair. “We can’t, Rickon. They are not our friends.”

  And even if they were, Sandor was right. The Three Sisters were not known for their steadfast loyalty as much as they were known for their avarice.

  “But Lord Davos told us the lord of the Sisters helped him, and father before him,” her brother reminded her, turning his face up to look at her.

  “Yes, I know what Godric Borrell and his father did, Rickon, but they won’t be able to help _us_ out. At least not today. Our best hope lies with the Manderlys, little brother.”

  “I remember him, I think,” Rickon replied, thoughtfully. “From when he visited Winterfell, and Bran was playing the lord. Wasn’t he the fat old man? I liked him.”

  Sansa tried to hide her giggles at that, for she could also remember Wyman Manderly. Still, it would not do for her brother to go around calling the man who was the head of House Manderly things like that.

  By the time _The King of the_ _Seas_ sailed past Oldcastle and entered the White Knife, all Sandor, Sansa, Osha, Rickon, Hagen and Lord Davos could do was wait for a signal from the captain that the time had come to put their plan in action.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for reading! Please review if you feel like it :D


	42. Back in the North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> *Onborrowedwings, really, So very grateful to you for everything, chica!! Thank you for everything! :D  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

  “Sansa, wake up,” Sansa heard Sandor rasp from somewhere far away. She buried her face in the pillow in protest, rolling more tightly into her blanket. It was so warm underneath it. 

  “Bird, it’s time. The others are waiting for us,” her big man’s rough voice insisted, echoing inside her sleepy mind, disturbing her peaceful rest.

  Shaking her head, Sansa wondered slightly what others Sandor could mean. _Surely it cannot be morning yet_. It took her a moment to remember, and when she did, her eyes flew open at once, her desire to fall back into the dream she had been having now forgotten.

  “Oh,” Sansa said at last, turning over on the narrow bunk bed to find Sandor sitting on its edge beside her. There was a single candle lit to keep night’s shadows at bay. “What time is it?”

  “Time to go,” her big man replied, staring down at her with a raised eyebrow, finding something about her amusing. He reached out to smooth back the auburn tousles that were all around her face before snorting and standing up, growling, “Come, little bird. We can’t be long.”

  _Yes, of course_ , she thought, squinting and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. _We cannot afford to lose one moment_. She pushed her pillow away reluctantly and threw back the blankets, remembering that three hours after midnight had been the appointed hour at which everyone had agreed it would be the best time for them to flee without attracting the sailors’ notice.

  _The King of the Seas_ was going to reach White Harbour in two days, but since no one in their company knew the latest outcome to the war, or whether House Manderly was still secretly intending to thwart the Boltons and their allies, the risk of Rickon, Sansa and Shaggydog arriving at the northern port city was too great. Therefore, for a few more days, they needed to conceal the truth of their arrival. _Or so we hope. Only the gods know what lies before us_.

  The galley was currently slowly sailing to the north of The Bite, in the direction of The White Knife, somewhere in between Oldcastle and White Harbour. _There is no better place for us to hide before we learn if we stand alone or not_. Sansa could only pray they had not come back too late. 

  Sandor started rolling up their bedrolls the moment Sansa got down from the bunk bed, reaching out for her clothes, no longer feeling so numb or dreamy, but alert, with her heart racing quickly inside her chest. She was going to dress warmly, Sansa had chosen a dress of thick brown wool, a deep green cloak with a large hood, and her boots, which were simple and sturdy, with flat heels and square toes. _As soon as I can, I am going to start dressing in mourning_ , Sansa told herself, slipping the dress over her head, her hands strangely clumsy.

  Sansa donned her cloak, leaving its hood down for a moment, and started braiding the long auburn hair that cascaded down her back and across her shoulders. Her eyes fell on her husband, who had his back to her as he buckled on his sword belt. Sandor had told her that he would not be wearing his armour just yet in case their boat upturned and they fell into the water, since all the heavy weight could drown him.

  Before she knew what she was doing, Sansa took four steps forward and silently threw her arms around Sandor, embracing him to her from behind as tightly as she could. She pressed her cheek against her big man’s back, closing her eyes, a little smile appearing on her face as Sandor grabbed one of her hands in his and gave it a squeeze.

  Sansa pressed little kisses just below Sandor’s shoulder blades, and took in his powerful male scent as he tilted his neck backwards so that he could rest the back of his head on her forehead once she had stood on tip toes, his large frame casting a shadow over her thanks to the candle’s flickering light.

  Though Sansa did not wish to appear uncertain, now that she was about to finally set foot in the north again, her feelings of excitement mingled with nervousness were joined by the daunting knowledge that Sandor and she were once again to join the game of thrones was not something she could easily dismiss from her mind.

  “Sandor?” she said softly.

  “Yes, little bird?”

  “I-I…” she could not seem to know how to voice her thoughts.

  Sandor turned around and looked down at her with a frown for a heartbeat before his burned features changed as he understood what was worrying her. Her big man cupped her face with both of his calloused hands and leaned down to kiss her. Sansa’s hands held on to Sandor’s forearms for support, already feeling a little better. She had always loved the way she never had to explain herself with Sandor, for he could always understand her even when she kept silent.

  And yet, once they had broken the kiss and were looking at each other, their breaths mingling, Sansa heard herself asking, “This is for the best, isn’t it?”

  Sandor laughed bitterly at that, regarding her with a hard long look before rasping, while he caressed his thumb over her lower lip, “It’s the best option because it’s the only one, bird. That’s all I know for certain.”

  Trying to keep her spirits up, not really surprised by his answer, Sansa nodded determinedly, taking a deep breath. Her husband tilted her chin upwards and said in a voice harsh and raw as steel on stone, “I will take care of you, little bird. Out there I’m going to be The Hound to all of them. Half a year away in Essos will not have bloody changed at least _that_. I’ll be damned if they have all stopped fearing that name.”

  “I know that,” Sansa said, running her hands down his chest. She smiled up at Sandor bravely and said softly, “But _I_ also know that you are not the man they think you are.”

  Sandor snorted. “Then who am I supposed to be?”

  “You are the brave man who has protected me for all these months against so many dangers. You are the man I have come to love more than I ever even knew could be possible, big man. And you are the man I will face the world for until they come to accept you.”

  Sandor pulled her close to him and said, “And that is how I hope it remains, little bird. I promise you that I am going to do everything in my power to make sure we get through this shit alive.”

  She kissed her love again at that before he stepped back and asked her if she was ready to go. She was. They had packed just a little food already, as well as all their remaining gold, coin and their scarce belongings, which were either packed or attached to their saddlebags. They would be taking those with them even though they were going to have to leave Nan and Stranger behind, in the care of Hagen and Lord Davos.

  They had already made their farewells to their horses last night, with Sansa kissing Nan’s muzzle and brushing her mare’s coat as Sandor broodingly said some words to his war horse as seriously as if the black destrier could understand them. Sansa had smiled as she chanced glances at them both, shaking her head whenever her big man protested loudly about leaving Stranger in Edar’s care for so long. Yet she knew that her husband had come to respect and appreciate her Lorathi sworn arrow, or else he would not have entrusted her life or that of his horse to him.

  Sandor carried the saddles under his arms after he had opened the door and peered down the corridor outside their cabin. When he had made certain that there was nobody around he snarled in a low, hoarse command, “Keep quiet now, bird. Don’t make a sound and pull your hood up.”

  She nodded and did as he said, taking one last look at the cramped little cabin she had come to be so fond of before following Sandor outside, the sound of their retreating footsteps echoing softly in the galley’s eerie silence. Sansa kept her head down and stayed close behind Sandor as they went up to the deck.

  The whole crew of _The King of the Seas_ was resting now, but that did not matter. Every little sound that Sandor or her made interrupted the stillness that had descended upon the ship, whether it was the way her big man’s long sword rattled as he moved, or the beating of Sansa’s heart which sounded to Sansa as loud as if a whole pack of howling wolves had been released.

  But it only lasted for a few short moments, for in less than no time Sandor was lifting the bar on the door that opened to the wooden steps that led up to the deck. Sansa felt a cold breeze on her face the moment she stepped into the night’s chill, but it felt refreshing, for it smelled pine leaves and wood and cold. It smelled of the north.

  Below them was the water, above the sky, and one was as black as the other. To the west, Sansa could see a scattering of stars, which she thought looked to be The Moonmaid. She wondered if it was a good thing that there was a little moon tonight or not, for its light could hinder their wish to stay concealed from any prying eyes. They walked across the main deck to where Rickon, Hagen, Lord Seaworth and the captain were all standing by the rail, waiting for them with _The King’s_ cabin boy holding a lantern before him.

  Sandor gave a short nod at the men before them while Sansa smiled down at her brother. Rickon had shadows under his eyes, but he seemed wide awake as he watched Shaggydog sail away with a disapproving scowl.

  Since it was impossible for Sansa, Sandor, Rickon, Osha and a direwolf to all share a small kiff together, it had been decided that the wildling woman would row to shore one of the two small boats that Captain Beren had been willing to spare them, accompanied by Rickon’s wolf.

  Sansa admired Osha for her courage at this, for the direwolf could upturn the boat at any moment or worse, but when they had pointed this out to her Osha had shrugged and replied that she was the one who was most fit for this task, and that she would be damned when the day came where she was afraid of getting wet.

  “I lived my life beyond the wall. Shaggy throwing me into The Bite won’t fret me none, m’lady.”

  Osha was hard and tough, and uncomplaining and sharp, willing to go wherever she was commanded, always serving faithfully. _I should not really be surprised_.

  Squinting in the dark, Sansa tried to make out the shape of the boat that was carrying Osha and Shaggydog, but by now they had been swallowed by the mist at the far distance they had already put between themselves and the ship.

  The rope ladder was dropped over the rail, and the boat that would be used by Sansa, Sandor and Rickon was already waiting for them on the water, tied to the galley by a long thick rope.

  “My part in this is done for tonight,” Captain Beren the Stout said, after he had returned Sandor’s nod. “ _The King_ is known in White Harbour. When we reach the docks, smuggling your two friends inside the city will not be hard. Afterwards, I will make it clear to my men that you were never here. Perhaps it won’t do much good since I am sure they already suspect who most of you are, but in any case, I hope that Stannis counts this as an act of good will towards him from my part.”

  “King Stannis never goes back upon his word, Beren,” Lord Davos told the captain. “You will be repaid.”

  Beren was a good sailor and master to his crew, but The Onion Knight had still needed to put his signature upon a contract the captain had commissioned from his first mate that stated plainly how much he expected to be paid for all the trouble they had caused him.

  Captain Beren returned his gaze to Sandor and Sansa, regarding them for a moment before bowing his head in their direction and turning around to walk away. The cabin boy followed closely on his heels, taking the lantern with him, casting Sansa and the others in almost utter darkness.

  “Do not stay downwind,” Sandor rasped once the captain and the boy were out of ear shot. “The wolf needs to catch your scent once you come looking for us.”

  “We won’t,” Hagen promised, his bow and quiver full of arrows already attached to his back. “And you don’t wander far from the coastline either.”

  “How long do you think we must wait for you?” Sansa asked.

  “A week at the most,” Lord Davos answered her. “One of us will find you no matter what if you stay to the outskirts of the city. It will not be prudent for us to play anything but the common sailor and the Lorathi merchant at first, so I must wait until Hagen is granted a private audience with Wylla or Wynafryd, and decides on whether or not he can trust them with our secret.”

  “And just in case we get lost along the way, Shaggydog will certainly find us one way or another, sooner rather than later,” Hagen pointed out cheerfully.

  Sansa knew that what Edar said was most likely true, but she nonetheless found herself more concerned about the fates of Hagen and Davos than of her own for a moment, for at least Rickon and she would have Sandor with them. If by chance they encountered someone in the wild, then he would likely end up a dead man.

  Lord Davos was risking much in letting them go out of his sight like this; trusting them beyond what they should have had the right to expect. If someone realized that rather than the common sailor he was The Onion Knight, whom everybody believed to be dead, then they would throw him into a cell or make sure they beheaded the right person this time. And if something went wrong with their plan and they never saw him again for some reason, then it could very well mean that he had lost the Manderlys trust, making them no longer wish to stand behind Stannis Baratheon once they revealed to the world where their loyalty truly laid. 

  Sansa nodded at last. She did not wish to be the one to delay their departure any longer, but she could not help herself then and asked about another concern that had been worrying her. “Are you quite sure you do not want to come with us and enter the city on land rather than by the docks?”

  The ghost of a smile appeared on Lord Davos’ face as he replied, “Don’t worry, my lady. The customs men will not care about Hagen or I. We will pretend to be common seamen, and those sorts of men have never concerned them much.”

  Sansa knew what he meant, for there were few men who looked as common as Lord Davos. He was of middling height, with his shrewd peasant’s face weathered by the wind and the sun, and his grizzled beard and brown hair well salted with grey were not the first Sansa had come to encounter, whether it be in Essos or the Seven Kingdoms.

  “Shaggy will miss Stranger,” Rickon pointed out suddenly, making Sandor nod in approval.

  “Edar,” Sandor said, turning his attention to Sansa’s sworn arrow. “If anything happens to my horse, I’ll gut you. So whip the shit off your hands when you are dealing with him if-”

  “If I want to live to see another day,” the Lorathi interrupted, chuckling. “Yes Sandor, as I told you yesterday, I promise to take good care of both him and Nan.”

  Sandor snorted. “You are already starting to talk with a wildling accent, you know. Hopefully the time you spend away from Osha will fix that.”

  They all laughed at that, and then Lord Seaworth offered Sandor his hand, which Sansa’s big man took, as both men said the other’s name, parting with a nod.

  Sansa lowered her face to hide her smile, wondering once more if, given time, Sandor and Lord Davos could not actually end up becoming friends. It was clear by now that both men respected each other, which Sansa gathered was a good thing since Lord Seaworth would have to defend Sandor before Stannis Baratheon, and Sandor would have to do the same with Davos.

  _They both need friends_ , Sansa had gathered over the past month, after listening carefully to what The Onion Knight had told her and the others about Stannis’ court, from his high lords and their ladies, to his knights, whether they fought under the Baratheon banner or that of the red woman, Melisandre. _I do not believe Davos likes many of the people surrounding his king, and neither do they like him_.

  “Let’s bloody well get on with this,” Sansa’s big man snarled at last beside her.

  She winked at him and gave him a little nod before Sandor went down the ladder with a saddle under his arm. He had to make the trip up and down the ladder twice more due to the remaining saddle and Rickon. If her brother was frightened, Sansa was proud to see the way he put on a brave face as he clung to Sandor when both of them were descending the ladder.

  When Rickon and Sandor were both at last inside the boat along with their scarce belongings, Sansa knew the time had come to say her farewells to the men left standing beside her on deck. _Gods,_ _please let us meet them again in less than a week, unharmed and as bearers of good tidings_.

  “Well, I guess this is good-bye then,” Hagen said, looking at her with a sad smile, fidgeting with the strap of his quiver.

  “Only for a little while,” Sansa told him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Your liege lady will be expecting her sworn arrow to come back to resume his duties, you know.”

  Edar laughed. “That she will, will she? Well, if all goes well with these Manderlys I expect that’s what this sworn arrow will be doing.”

  Sansa chuckled at that and turned her attention to Lord Davos.

  “Thank you,” was all she could tell the Onion Knight, grateful for everything that he had done so far for her and Sandor, and what he was still going to do.

  Lord Seaworth bowed at her and said, “Be safe, my lady.”

  “Oh she will be, Davos,” Hagen suddenly interrupted, with a grin. “Sandor would never let any harm come to her or Rickon in a thousand years.”

  Sansa’s smile grew even bigger at that, and she found herself asking her friend, “Do you remember the night we met properly for the first time? I mean- not the night when Stranger attacked you.”

  Hagen ran a hand through his hair, and answered after a moment, “Wasn’t it when I asked you and Sandor to consider taking me along with you when you left the caravan?”

  “Yes,” she answered, nodding. “I told you that night that I did not trust you one bit.”

  “Oh yes, I remember!” Edar exclaimed, laughing at the memory of that time. “What about it?”

  “I trust you now,” she replied, and gave Hagen a hug for them before addressing both men with a final, “Good-bye.”

  With a deep intake of breath, Sansa stepped in front of the rail, looking down uncertainly at the boat beyond that had her husband and her brother. Though the galley was a big ship that was presently moving slowly with its sails furled as it pulled the boat along with it, and the trip down the ladder would not really take that long, for some reason, in that moment, Sansa’s heart started beating a little faster.

  _Be brave_ , Sansa told herself then. _You’re home_. _Be brave, like a lady in a song_. She turned her gaze across the waters of The Bite in the direction where she knew the shore of the land in which she had been born was, feeling how her skin turned to steel. What awaited her was the land which she recalled from the summer of her childhood, made of green hills and flowered plains, with great rushing rivers running beside castles or small keeps that rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains.

Even if the Boltons and the Ironborn had damaged Winterfell, Sansa knew that if she fought long enough and hard enough, then one day she would have help to remake Winterfell the place she remembered. _It can’t just all stay in my memories. Rickon and the children I have one day with Sandor must come to know that dream too_. They had to live in a north that was whole and new.

  With a resolute shake of her head, Sansa returned to reality and without thinking about it again, she eased herself over the edge of the ship, grabbing the ladder in a strong grip as she placed her feet upon it, noticing the way _The King’s_ mast loomed large above her.  She kept her gaze straight ahead, not daring to look down as she made certain of each step before reaching for the next one. Sometimes she could feel her fingers slipping, but whenever her courage threatened to leave her, Sansa would only tell herself, _One more step_. _Just one more step_.

  The boat took her by surprise, and Sansa would have stumbled and fallen had Sandor not been already waiting to hold her in an iron grip by the waist, rasping up at her, “Go on, little bird. Let go of the ladder. I got you.”

  “Thank you,” Sansa said, though her heart was pounding as she sat on the boat beside Rickon and stared up from where she had come. Sandor only grunted. _I did it_. _I did it, I didn’t fall, and now I am nearly home!_

  She threw an arm around little Rickon, who quickly scurried closer to her, shivering, and watched as Sandor cut loose the rope that connected their boat to _The King_ , before sitting down before them and sliding the blades into the water, putting his back into the oars, rowing them out toward the distant shore at once.

  Rickon was trembling beside her, so Sansa draped her cloak around his shoulders, realizing that she could not stretch her legs at all since Sandor had placed the saddles before her.

  “There, is that better?” she asked him, rubbing her brother’s arm. “It’s all right, Rickon. We are home again. We are in the north! Are you not happy about it?”  

  Sansa certainly was. Her own heart was thumbing with excitement.

  “Yes,” Rickon replied sleepily, taking her hand in his own.

  She rubbed his palm gently with her thumb back and forth as her brother asked her, “Sansa, are we going to meet Shaggy and Osha now? What if they got hurt?”

  “No talk,” Sandor said, his lip curling. “Sound carries over water.”

  “They’ll be all right, Rickon. The worst for tonight is past and done now,” Sansa whispered in her brother’s ear before he nodded bravely and looked across the water to see if he could catch sight of the direwolf and the wildling woman, even as his head began to drop forward and he yawned loudly.

  With slow, steady, rhythmic strokes, they threaded their way downstream as the mist rose over the water. The oarlocks had been muffled, so they moved almost soundlessly through the dark river they had all to themselves. _Well, to ourselves and Osha and Shaggydog_ , Sansa reminded herself. There was little doubt in her mind that Osha’s, with her wiry-strong arms, would have less trouble with the oars than she would with the fierce direwolf.

  Soon the ship fell away, the fog grew thicker, and the faint sound of his oars was lost to all life. The shapes of Lord Davos and Hagen faded in the distance. Sandor, Rickon and Sansa were out on the choppy black waters of The Bite, in a world shrunk to contain only dark water, blowing mist, and their silent breathes.

  Sansa huddled in the bow, lost in the folds of her cloak with the hood drawn against the wind, her face pale beneath the cowl, feeling her tummy fluttering as she imagined what would happen once the north knew of their homecoming. From time to time she would meet her husband’s eyes and would smile at the sight of him as he hunched over the oars, steering the boat back against the current so it went upstream.

  The small boat threw up curls of black water whenever they turned upon that misty night. Sansa’s hand was on the gunwale, and the wood was creaking above the cold expanse of water that was The Bite. The rest was rowing, rowing, rowing as they all huddled in silence. She must have dozed off along with Rickon despite her excitement, because the next thing she knew, she suddenly sat up startled, as a wolf howled close by.

  “Shaggydog,” she whispered, turning around to see if she could catch sight of the wolf. The first hints of dawn were already making their appearance. Sansa could see that they had almost reached the shore at last, and Shaggydog and Osha were already waiting for them there.

  Rickon had woken up at the sound of his direwolf as well, and called his name eagerly, making Shaggy shake his wet fur and roll onto his back, just as excited to see his master again as Sansa’s brother was to see him. Once Sandor had drawn up the boat on the east bank of The Bite, Shaggydog splashed his way to their boat and Rickon at once, while Osha followed him so she could carry Rickon on her shoulders so that he did not get his clothes wet and catch a cold.

  Sandor shipped the oars and got off the boat and pulled it out of the water before helping Sansa to her feet, a grin appearing on his face once he saw the way she was smiling as she regarded the view before her, at an utter loss for words that could express what she was feeling in these moments, feeling dizzy as she told herself that this was _really_ happening.

  Her big man then lifted her from the boat so that she would not get her skirts wet, and Sansa clung to him, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she whispered, “Oh Sandor, we did it! We are here. I cannot _believe_ it!”

  Chuckling sourly, Sandor finally stopped walking and gave her a quick kiss before letting her slide down to the ground. The moment her feet touched northern land, her knees gave way under her. Sansa fell on all fours with an intake of breath, completely stunned, as she buried her fingers into the soil, staring at the shore and the hills clad with trees before her with tears threatening to blur her vision.

  Sansa could hear Rickon a short distance away saying, “Home, Shaggy! We are near home now,” as Sandor squatted on the ground beside her, placing his heavy hand on her back as he rasped with concern, “Are you all right, Sansa?”

  “ _I’m back_ ,” she said at last, to see if that would wake her. Gods, the air smelt so clean here. _I am in the north_. Her heart felt as if it was melting just the way she knew ice melted when touched by spring’s sunlight. After everything that she had been through, she was now back. _The gods heard my prayers. They brought me home!_

  “Aye, little bird,” Sandor growled, laughing as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re back.”

  At his touch, Sansa turned her face to look at him and smiled with all her heart. Her eyes never left his deep grey ones as she leaned forward to kiss him. Her husband returned the deep kiss fiercely, but just as he was beginning to draw her closer in his arms they were brought back to the present when Osha coughed and said that there would be plenty of time for that later.

  “Thought we were supposed to be hurrying?”

  “Yes of course,” Sansa told Osha even as she cupped Sandor’s cheek lovingly as they drew apart after he had muttered that he damned well hoped there was time for them to be alone. “We cannot linger here.”

  As Sandor went to don on his armour as quickly as he could manage, Osha pulled out the saddles from the boat. Sansa waited with Rickon beside the sea, passing her brother her waterskin once she had taken a sip from it herself as Shaggydog began to sniff the ground around them.

  Sansa let her gaze wander off to the woods before them during those moments, highly relieved that snow had not yet fallen here. But it really was no wonder, seeing as how Winterfell was the heart of the north, and White Harbour had always been its mouth. Its firth had remained free of ice even in the depths of winter for centuries. _With winter coming on_ , Sansa thought. _That could mean much and more_.

  When Sandor was done and had loosened his sword in his scabbard, he and Osha each carried a saddle under their arms, as Osha muttered, “Quiet, Shaggydog, Rickon. And make him stay close by.”

  “Come Shaggy,” Rickon called out loud to his direwolf, as they all entered the outskirts of the woods that would produce a measure of safety as they made their way to White Harbour.

  All day long they walked and walked, never straying too far away from the coastline and thus never getting lost due to Sandor and Osha’s knowledge and skills of how to survive in the wild. Osha carried Rickon at times, since his legs could not take him far enough fast enough. Their tracks and the wolf’s pawprints were plain enough to read into the soft ground, but there was no one following them.

  The wood grew ever wilder as the pines and sentinels gave way to huge dark oaks. Tangles of hawthorn concealed treacherous gullies and cuts. Stony hills rose and fell and still they walked and walked until Sansa longed for the lost comfort riding Nan would have meant. Yet there was little she could complain about in this day. She was back home, and whenever she remembered that, her face broke into a smile.

  They were lucky enough to never encounter anybody. Lord Davos had told them that there would mostly be fisherfolk and rivermen scattered here and there, but whether it was to the war or to winter, the people who had lived in the wild woods between White Harbour and Old Castle had long gone away somewhere else.

  “The poxy peasants probably headed towards the nearby towns or cities seeking shelter,” Sandor had said after she had asked him what he thought of their lack of encounters with other people. “That is, if they managed to live that long.”

  It was not until dusk that they finally found a clearing where Sandor said was safe enough for them to settle at for the night. They had only rested briefly long hours ago to get some food in their bellies. Sansa had tried to drink as little as she could throughout the day, and ended up only needing to go make her water some distance away from their party two times. _At least I do not have my moon blood on me now_ , she had thought thankfully, remembering the first days after fleeing King’s Landing with Sandor, when she had been forced to rip the hem of her silk gown to use as a cloth between her legs. Whenever their skins went dry, there were always little streams where they could refill them with clear cold water.

  Yet whenever Sandor or Rickon had to make water, Sansa would find herself looking away, and would be grateful to Osha when the wildling woman kept on walking as if nothing had happened, making Sansa quickly follow her. The others would join them soon enough though, but Sandor would always roll his eyes at her and mess up with her hair when she caught his eye afterwards.

 

***

 

  Wisps of pale mist threaded between the trees as Sandor finally managed to make a fire in the center of the clearing to warm them all for tonight. He put his flint and tinder back inside the saddlebag with a grunt as he squatted before the flames, turning his neck around to see what his little bird was doing.

  Sansa was breaking her loaf of bread with her brother as the boy ate an apple, his back propped up against the belly of his direwolf. Osha had already laid down on her bedroll, and was trying to get some rest after the long day they’d all had.

  Sandor looked around the clearing, from the spot on the ground where he had placed his armour to the dark sky above, noticing that there were no stars tonight. _It’s as good a place for us to rest as any other_ , he had gathered, once it was clear that the bird and her brother could not keep on going any longer today.

  The woods were oddly silent tonight. Sentinels and soldier pines grew thick about here, and there was nothing as dark and gloomy as an evergreen forest. The ground was uneven, scattered with fallen needles here and there.

  He stood up and went to sit before the big great oak where he had decided to take the first watch, thinking that if they managed to keep today’s pace tomorrow, they would probably reach the outskirts of White Harbour in three to four days.

  The night was quickly getting fucking cold by now. Sandor rested his head against the oak trunk behind him with a sigh, glad that his leathers and cloak kept the some of the cold at bay. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking that he should better hunt some game for them all for tomorrow or the scanty provisions they’d brought with them would run out by tomorrow night. _Osha will probably want to hunt as well, knowing the woman._

  The sudden sound of Sansa’s clear voice as she sang Rickon to sleep made Sandor’s eyes fly open. He could not make out the words, but it was reassuring to hear his little bird’s sweet soft voice. _It’s been too long enough since I last heard her sing_.  

  Sansa was kneeling on the ground beside Rickon, who was lying on the bedroll, hugging Shaggydog as the direwolf stared up at the bird with those green eyes of his that reminded Sandor so much of the pycromancer’s piss. _If there’s a wild animal around, Shaggydog will see to it_ , Sandor gathered, glad for one less worry he had to remember.

  After a moment the little bird kissed her brother on the forehead and stood up gracefully, smoothing her skirts in the process. She turned around at once in his direction, hugging herself as she walked over to him with a smile on her face.

  “You’re shivering,” he rasped, when Sansa was standing beside him. “Go get your fur-trimmed coat, little bird.”

  “No, it’s all right,” she chirped. “Really, there’s no need for it. I don’t want to get it ruined.”

  Sandor shook his head. He knew Sansa did not want to wear it right now because it was going to get dirty, which was just bloody stupid. “I’ll get you as many fur coats as you will want in a lifetime as soon as this war is over, Sansa. Just go put on the one I gave you in Norvos. It’ll keep you warm tonight.”

  She looked like she was about to argue back, but after a moment of regarding him with an unsure expression she finally gave him a little smile and a nod and turned around to go for his nameday gift to her. He watched her take it out of her saddlebag and don it on before she returned to where he was sitting, looking dishevelled and too fucking beautiful in the light of the shifting flames their fire cast.

  Sansa surprised him when she sat on the ground beside him, for he had been expecting her to go back to the bedroll where Rickon was sleeping to try and get some rest, for it was clear to him how tired she was, despite her not saying a word of complait all day long. The little bird chuckled when she saw his expression and told him, “If I am ruining my coat then I am staying here with you.”

  Sansa was supposed to share a bedroll with Rickon, while Osha used the other one until it was time for her to take over tonight’s watch.

  “Little bird, you should get some rest,” he began to snarl, before Sansa arched her eyebrow at him, asking, “What? Do you not want me to stay here and keep you company?”

  Sandor snorted, giving in, amazed at how much the little bird had changed from the girl he first met, who would have had more than one word to say in protest at the thought of ruining her silk dress.

  As he pulled his little bird in his arms, pressing her close to his chest, clutching her tightly he snarled, “ _If_ I don’t want you to stay? No, bugger that, little bird. I don’t want that. I want you to stay here.”

  Sansa smiled, kissing his neck and his burned cheek as she said softly, “That is good, because I want to stay here with you too.”

  With a grunt at those words, Sandor claimed his wife’s mouth, kissing her slow and deep, the warmth of her body making him aware of the increasing tightness of his breeches. But he knew that tonight, here in the wild with Rickon and the wildling, was not the fucking place or the time for taking his bird.

  So they broke the kiss reluctantly, shifting around on the ground so that Sansa could rest her back against his chest in a position where his mail did not hurt her, wrapping his arms around her as she sighed contentedly.

  They sat in silence for some moments, both lost in their own thoughts until Sandor remarked sourly, “I can just imagine how sodding cold it will be when it starts to snow.”

  Laughing, Sansa said, “Well, if I recall correctly you did say that you did not mind freezing in northern snows when you were proposing to me, remember?”

  Throwing his head back at that, Sandor laughed, and the sound was like dogs snarling at each other in a pit. He brought his lips down to the back of Sansa’s neck, nibbling at her earlobe after saying, “Seven hells, but I _did_ say that!”

  “You also agreed,” she continued, in a more serious tone, “to us marrying before a heartree as soon as we found one, you know.”

  Sandor had not forgotten. “Aye, I know. And that’s what we will be doing when we find one.”

  “Thank you,” his bird chirped, snuggling closer to him.

  “Do you know what else I would like us to do?” Sandor told her, tickling her gently.

  Sansa tried to stop her giggles as he went on kissing and touching her body and skin, the sound of her laughter as sweet to Sandor’s ears as the song she had sung to her brother had been, as he whispered in her ear all the things he would like to do to her right now, making the bird hiss in a whisper, as she went on chuckling, “Oh Sandor, stop it!”

  “You really are happy, aren’t you?” he remarked moments later, nosing Sansa’s auburn hair out of the way when his amused laughter had subsided into half a growl. “To be back in the North, I mean.”

  Sandor had been expecting the little bird to react differently the moment they set foot on the east bank of The Bite, but had realized that deep down he’d known Sansa would be overwhelmed with joy at being back home after so long, regardless of the fact that she would not have wanted her homecoming to be so clad in secrecy due to the great risk and peril they were chancing to fate.

  For his part, he was just relieved that they the first stage of their journey had passed without any troubles. If the gods were good, Hagen and the Onion will find them soon enough. _And then we will know where the sodding Manderlys really stand in the game_.

  “Oh yes of course, darling,” Sansa told him now, bringing her hand behind her head to reach for him so she could slide her fingers through his hair and gently caress his face with her knuckles and fingertips. “It is just so hard to believe that we are here at times. I- I mean- I know that the worst is still before us, but I cannot help being happy at being back.”

  Sandor’s gaze fell on the fire for a moment, before moving to the shadows it cast upon the sleeping forms of Rickon, Osha and the direwolf. Before he knew it, he heard himself asking Sansa, “What song were you singing to Rickon?”

  “The Mother’s Hymn,” she sighed, turning around to look him in the face, making him still under her gaze at those words.

  _Fuck._ That _song_. No wonder he had thought it sounded familiar at a distance. He had been drunk as a dog back then, at his lowest point, and yet he knew that he would carry the memory of Sansa singing that hymn to him the night the Blackwater burned with green fire till his dying day. What that song meant to them both was clear to both of them as they stared into each other’s eyes.

  “But doesn’t your brother believe in your bloody white and red trees?” he asked at last, pressing his brow against Sansa’s. As far as Sandor knew, he had never heard Rickon mention one word of The Seven.

  Sansa nodded. “Yes, he does, but I remembered that song for some reason. He did not seem to mind it though.”

  Sandor placed his chin on the top of the little bird’s head, rocking her back and forth, his arms wrapped loosely around Sansa’s waist. And then he rasped, “Sing me that song, little bird?”

  “All right,” Sansa said at once, as if she had been expecting him to ask her beforehand.

  She kept her voice soft and low so as not to wake the others, with her head resting on his shoulder, as she sang, “ _Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war, we pray. Stay the swords and stay the arrows, let them know a better day. Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters through this fray. Soothe the wrath and tame the fury, teach us all a kinder way_.”

  The little bird fell asleep in his arms that night. Long hours later, when it was time for Osha to take Sandor’s place and keep watch for the rest of the night, Sandor carried Sansa to the bedroll under Shaggydog’s gaze, and placed her upon it as gently as he could, so as not to disturb her rest, or that of her brother’s. Then Sandor lay down on the empty bedroll beside her and looked up at the patch of dark sky the clearing revealed. To his bloody surprise he was asleep within minutes.

  The following morning, Sandor woke up with his little bird nestled against him, one arm draped lightly over his chest, her breasts brushing his back. He laid there on the ground listening to the sound of the waking forest and to the soft steady flow of Sansa’s breathing.

  When she woke up later, Sansa smiled sleepily up at Sandor when she realized that he had been staring at her already, taking in once again every detail of her beautiful features with admiration.

  “Why do you look so happy now?” he wanted to know.

  “For many reasons, really,” she replied, with dimples appearing on both of her cheeks. “Because it is a new day, and the sky is blue. Because I love falling asleep in your arms and waking up still wrapped in them in the mornings. I always have, even back on the days when I knew it was very improper of me to be sleeping in a bed with as a grown man.”

  Sandor kissed her, his scarred lips nibbling at hers before her mouth opened to let his tongue slip inside, while he remembered with amusement the moments they had spent in _The Inn of the Stormed King_ just before they left Westeros for Pentos when Sansa had asked him to please never tell her mother or her kingly brother or the world about their sleeping arrangements.

  “I fucking like waking up like this too, little bird,” Sandor admitted once they had broken the kiss. “I always have as well.”

  They rested in silence upon their bedrolls for a couple of moments afterwards, until Sansa suddenly exclaimed enthusiastically, “Oh Sandor, look at the way the clouds are massing in the sky!”

  “What?” he asked, at a loss.

  “Yes, look! It’s _so_ beautiful the way they are pierced by shafts of sunlight. It is just as if they where two huge castles afloat in the morning sky!”

  Sandor tilted his neck upwards so he could stare at what the little bird was seeing. It did not take him long to understand what his little wife was talking about. He could sort of make up the walls of the tumbled stone Sansa was refereeing to, as well as the mighty keeps and barbicans, but he pretended that he couldn’t.

  “Yes, don’t you see?” the little bird insisted when he had said she was imagining things, pointing at the clouds above them, visible trough the clearing. “It looks as if wispy banners were swirling from atop the towers, reaching for the few fast fading stars that decorated the sky last night.”

  “Seven hells, you’ve lost your mind, little bird,” Sandor observed with a laugh, but his bird paid him no heed and continued to chirp away. 

  Sansa and Sandor watched the blood red sun coming up behind the clouds that morning, making them go from black to many grey to rose and gold and crimson. Soon the wind mushed them together, and there was only one castle where there had been two.

  “Now they look like a tumbling tower, or likes some of the ruins we encountered during our trip to the Hills of Norvos,” he pointed out, as the wind brushed Sansa’s soft hair against his brow.

  “Hush,” Sansa told him, placing a quick kiss upon his mouth. “They don’t. I do not want to hear or think about falling towers and ruined castles, Sandor.”

  “Aye, he rasped, understanding the reasons why she had spoken those words. “I reckon I wouldn’t either, little bird.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for reading the chapter! Will keep my fingers crossed that you liked this chapter :D Hope you’re all doing great!


	43. The Godswood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> *Onborrowedwings, thank you for being such a wonderful beta, helping me out with this fic since the start. It means a lot and I can never thank you enough for your help!! :D  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

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Their small company pressed on and on towards White Harbour, even as the nights grew colder and colder with every passing day _. Bloody hells, I never thought how true my words would turn out to be_ , Sandor thought, pissing against a tree on the third day since their arrival in Westeros, remembering how he had told Sansa that he wanted to come to the North to freeze his arse off in the snow as he asked her to marry him. _Or how soon either_.

  “Bugger the warm,” Sandor muttered, hoping that their party would not have to stay in these woods for too long. He knew that winter already had the north in its grip, and it was only due to White Harbour’s location that the city had been spared from the changing of the seasons. But it was not going to fucking remain like that for long now.

  He was not about to start complaining about it, when no one save Rickon said a word about it. Osha was as tough as Sandor had ever heard wildlings were, and the little bird never said anything, and when he asked her how she was doing, she would only chirp that her limbs were a little sore, but not much else. Here in the wilderness, Sansa was turning into the northern she-wolf that he’d known she was deep down, every passing day, gaining an inner strength that was just as dangerous as sharp steel or strong arms.

  Sandor laced his breeches when he was done and strode quickly in the direction where Sansa, Rickon, Shaggydog and Osha had walked on ahead, smirking at the little bird in amusement as she avoided his eyes like she was wont to do whenever he went to take a piss. _Still the perfect bloody little lady even after all this time_.

  The days passed by as they kept on walking north in the wild woods, avoiding the few paths or roads they found from time to time in an attempt to avoid encountering anyone, whether they were fisherfolk or soldiers or starving families. They rested by night, and stayed close to the coastline by day, knowing that there was little chance for either Osha or Sandor to lose themselves in the forest.

  Once, when the wildling woman said that the way north was easy if they just looked for the Ice Dragon and chased the blue star in the rider’s eye, the little bird and Sandor had ended up asking Osha as much as she was willing to tell them about life beyond the wall, and though some of her tales made Sansa stare in disbelief, Sandor would just snort at all the things the woman talked about, whether they were about giants or children of the forest, or the Others, the white walkers. _Next she’ll be telling us about grumpkins and snarks_.

  The wildling woman would also ask Rickon sometimes if he remembered the way she had taught him to find his way by the position of the stars or the moss growing on tree trunks. Sansa had been surprised to see that Osha had already taught Rickon how to hunt small animals like rabbits, birds or squirrels, moving quiet as a cat, but Sandor knew that the boy had probably seen and done more shocking things back in Skagos.

  Still, the sight of the boy trying to skin his pray with a dagger as he pushed his wolf away, saying, “No, Shaggy! You can’t have this one too. You already ate yours,” always amused him.

  Whenever they had to stop during the day to drink or to rest or piss or eat, it always had to be brief. They ate apples or berries, and re-filled their waterskins from any stream or pond they saw, and when they managed to have a decent fire going, they always dined on some roasted animal, and were lucky enough to even get a rabbit stew thanks to Osha. They always had to hunt for two animals; one for Sandor and Sansa and one for Osha and Rickon. Shaggydog did his own hunting, and would always return to them with his muzzle spotted with fresh blood. The bird would look away when this happened, and resumed eating her dinner with as much decency as she could muster, trying to avoid getting grease on her face or her dress, as she huddled closer to Sandor.

  Three days after they had landed on the eastern shore of The Bite, they came upon a deserted one room crofter’s cabin in the middle of a small grove of trees beside the sea. It was there that Sandor and Osha finally agreed they had found a place to stop and settle for the remaining time they had to wait until Hagen and The Onion found them.

  They were on the very outskirts of White Harbour by now, and if they went any further, then they could be risked getting caught by the men the city guard sent to patrol the surrounding lands, fields and woods outside the their walls.

  Sandor was glad for the refuge, for it provided some sort of shelter from the rain and the cold, even if the only furniture inside the house was an upturned table, and the stable behind the cabin had a broken roof and old dry hair inside its two stalls rather than a horse. _At least we can wash up in the sea_ , Sandor concluded, dropping the saddlebags in a corner of the cabin while the others started looking for their sleeping spots. 

 

***

 

  Sansa woke all at once, every nerve atingle. For a moment she did not remember where she was. She had dreamt that she was little, still sharing a bedchamber with her sister Arya. But it was Rickon tossing in his sleep beside her, not their sister, and this was not Winterfell, but a cabin somewhere in the woods near White Harbour. Her husband was not sleeping beside her, Sansa registered at once, due to the lack of Sandor’s snores and his warm large body. _Was that what woke me? Not having Sandor beside me?_ She wondered.

  The little cottage’s window was letting the first hints of daylight stream through it in this cold morning, yet Sansa was warm due to her fur-trimmed coat. It was barely past dawn, she reckoned, trying to recall the dream she’d been having. _Home_. _It was a dream of home_.

  Even though Sansa was close to Winterfell now- or at least the closest as she had ever been since the day she set out to the south with her father and Arya and all of King’s Robert’s court- Sandor among them- she could not go home yet. First she had to go to White Harbour, and see if the Manderlys were truly willing to stand behind her and Rickon and join the war with Stannis Baratheon, thwarting the Boltons, the Lannisters and the Freys, and even the Greyjoys.

  Sansa wished she could be certain that all would go well, but life had taught her to be cautious. As she laid on the bedroll she and Rickon shared, her mind wandered off to the visit she had paid to the seat of House Manderly with her father and Arya when they had been little girls, but the memories she had of that trip were not very helpful in helping her deduce what kind of a welcome she could expect in the city.

  She could only remember how excited she had been at seeing the sea for the first time, as well as the way she had felt like a mermaid under the sea when she set foot inside the court room of Lord Manderly. Regarding the kind old man, whom Sansa recalled was offensively fat, there was only a vague conversation in her mind between her lady mother and her father in which the latter told the former that Wyman Manderly was loyal to the bones to the Starks, allowing her to form some sort of the idea about the character of Lord Wyman.

  _But Lord Manderly maybe won’t even be in White Harbour if what he told Davos is true_ , Sansa reminded herself. When Lord Wyman and Robett Glover had told Lord Seaworth that they wished for him to go to Skagos and look for Rickon and Shaggydog and Osha, Manderly had confessed that he was going to Winterfell attended by the Freys and a hundred of his knights, to both witness Arya’s marriage to Ramsay Snow and to bend the knee to Roose Bolton all at once.

  _That is only if the girl the Lannisters handed over to the Boltons is_ really _Arya though_. It was so hard for Sansa to believe that it was her sister whom the Boltons had married to Roose Boton’s bastard. Sandor had told her that on the day when her father fell from grace and their household was killed, Arya had escaped Ser Meryn Trant with the aid of her dancing master when the former was sent to look for her in the Tower of the Hand. The members of the Kingsguard had mocked Ser Meryn for letting a little girl slip right through his fingers.

  Her real sister would be eleven by now. Sansa could almost see her in that moment, long-faced and gawky, all knobby knees and sharp elbows, with her dirty face and tangled hair. By what Lord Davos had told Sansa and Sandor about Ramsay Snow, Sansa could only feverishly pray that it was not really her sister who had been married to that monster.

  If it _was_ Arya, no matter how afraid her little sister was, she would not show it to anyone as they married her against her will. _If Snow tries to lay a hand on her, she will fight him_. Whether or not that was wise in such a situation, Sansa could not even begin to imagine.

  _I am not going back to sleep_ , Sansa realized. _My head is all a tumult_. Shifting around on the bedroll, Sansa sat up and then her eyes fell on Rickon, who was still fast asleep, looking so peaceful it was hard to remember the way he had been behaving since the day they had arrived at the this little deserted house. _But at least he is talking now_ , she thought. _And wants to be with me again._ That was a great comfort.

  Sansa leaned down and smoothed her brother’s hair out of his face, whispering, “I love you, Rickon,” before kissing his cheek. He didn’t wake up, for which Sansa was grateful. It was better that he rested and gained back his strength.  Sighing, she ensured Rickon’s cloak was about him before standing up, smoothing down the skirts of her dress and her fur-trimmed coat. She met Osha’s gaze as the wildling checked the direwolf’s paws, whispering so as not to wake her brother, “Good morning, Osha.”

  “Morning, little lady,” the woman replied.

  “Do you know where-?”

  “He’s gone out. Just a short while ago,” Osha informed her, already aware that Sansa was going to ask about Sandor’s whereabouts, as she took a drink from her waterskin.

  “Thank you,” Sansa replied, putting on her shoes before she slipped the dagger she had taken from that dead archer so long ago in the Kingswood beneath her coat, knowing Sandor would like her to be cautious.

  “Will you please tell Rickon that I will come back?” Sansa requested. “If he asks for me, I mean.”

  “Oh that he will,” Osha replied, looking over at her sleeping brother.

  Sansathanked Osha with a hesitant smile for that before she excused herself, stepping out of the crofter’s cottage, smiling a little as she remembered that a life time ago she would have been too scared to even leave the confines of the small house, let alone go looking for her husband in the woods by herself.

  Sandor was nowhere to be seen, so Sansa made her way to the sluggish stream that ran at the end of the grove of trees where the cabin was located, and knelt before it so she could wash her hands and her face in its cool waters, thinking that later today she would wash her feet here in an attempt to ease the numbness she always felt at the sole of her feet after a long tiring day of walking through the woods.

  _Maybe today will be the day when the others find us_ , Sansa thought, with hope. Seven days had already passed since they had last seen their friends. If the gods were good, Hagen and Davos would soon find them here, along with members of House Manderly if all went as planned. Sansa was both anxious and hesitant about revealing herself and Rickon to her former brother’s bannermen, but there was nothing to do about it now but wait.

_I wonder what will the noblewomen of White Harbour will say when they see me_ , Sansa mused, standing up and looking around the grove of trees, trying to figure out in which direction her big man had strode off to.

  Rickon, Osha, Sandor and even herself were starting to look like a bunch of savages from one of Osha’s tales from beyond the wall, with mud caked n their hair and scabs on their faces, hands, arms and legs, the clothes on their backs quickly staring to deteriorate into dirty rags. Even Sansa’s beautiful fur-trimmed coat was already filthy and matted, making her almost regret having to change into one of the thick woolen gowns she had bought back in Lorath, knowing that by the end of the day it would be ruined.

  She hoped that the members of House Manderlys did not change their minds or opinion of them once they laid eyes upon her and Rickon. _They must expect a prince and a princess fit to be Robb’s heirs, not a young woman and a skinny boy they have a hard time recognizing_. But with Shaggydog’s presence their identities could not possibly questioned. _And once we are in White Harbour we will all be able to take a bath every day and dress in new clothes_.

  Sansa did not have to wander very far off to find Sandor. She was walking from tree to tree, running her palms against their trunks lightly, when she came upon the seashore and stopped with a smile on her face as she saw that her husband was swimming in the ocean. _Of course, he loves to swim in the sea, no matter how cold the water is_.

  Her eyes fell on Sandor’s clothes, discarded beside a fallen log nearby. He had taken his tunic, boots, swordbelt, boiled leather and mail shirt off, swimming only in his breeches. When she returned her gaze to Sandor, their time in the cottage by the sea near Old Hrolf’s castle came back to Sansa, and as she watched Sandor backstroking swiftly and with agility towards the shore, unaware of her watching him. The love she felt for her big man overwhelmed her as the memories of their days together ran through her mind. _I do not know what I would have done without his support and his presence_.  He was the only comfort in this world that could help her deal with the pain that had been living inside her heart since the moment Rickon pushed her away.

  Sansa stood there watching Sandor for some moments, feeling her heart beating a little faster as butterflies fluttered inside her tummy, until her husband finally saw her and grinned at her at once.

  “Are you joining me this time, little bird?” Sandor rasped at her, as he walked out of the water, until the sight of his bare muscled chest was revealed to her. “Or am I going to have to run after you and get you inside again, love?”

  She knew what he meant at once- the memory of Sandor chasing after her on the night she had set up a dinner for him on the beach and had refused to swim in the Shivering Sea with him making her laugh. _He caught me and carried me in his arms to the sea and it was wonderful, even if the water was freezing_.

  “I’ll join you,” Sansa told Sandor now, walking over to the sea, stopping at the place where the waves met her feet. She locked her gaze with Sandor’s grey one, and saw the same desire she was feeling reflected in his grey stormy eyes. _If there anything in this world right now that I really need, it’s him_.

  She turned around to consider the chances of being seen by her brother or Osha, but concluded that the wildling woman knew it would not be wise for her or Rickon to come this way looking for them for a time.

  Sandor walked over to meet her as Sansa, already feeling the blush that was creeping up her neck, started to unlace her gown from behind, letting it slip to the ground. When he reached her, with his eyes roaming all over her body, Sandor brought one hand to the back of her head and wrapped it in her hair, pulling Sansa’s head back, his mouth closing in on hers at once hungrily, making her smile into the kiss when she felt Sandor’s left hand on her breasts.

  They made love for the first time since arriving at Westeros, there in the cold waters of The Bite in the early hours of that morning only as eager lovers could, and Sansa even forgot for a while her worries and concerns and the whole wide world, since being with her husband- laughing and playing and bathing in the sea with him like this- had them losing themselves in each other in a matter of moments. 

 

 

***

 

  Sansa was resting her head on Sandor’s chest as she laid upon the ground beside him, both of them at ease and content as they played with each other’s hands, their legs tangled together, letting a comforting silence settle between them. For even if they both had their reasons, as Sandor took his wife, it had been evident that they had both fucking missed to be with each other like this.

  Sandor had needed to feel that sweet release after almost a week of only being able to kiss or touch the little bird as they huddled together by the fire at night; and Sansa had needed to feel loved after everything that had happened since she had told Rickon of Catelyn and Robb Stark’s deaths on the day they came upon the deserted cabin.

  It had all started when they were all seating around the cooking fire at midday. Rickon had gone to fetch his waterskin, and when he came back, he’d asked Sandor when they would start training again.

  “It’s been days since we last trained,” the boy pointed out. “Hagen hasn’t been here to help me either. I’ve only skinned animals and practiced finding the way north by the stars. I want to do something fun.”

   “Skinning your dinner and knowing your way around the dark woods at nights are useful skills to learn, little lord,” Osha had told Rickon, making the boy look at his feet with an uncertain frown.

  Sandor told Rickon that they could start that very afternoon, since now that they had settled in the deserted house, they could afford to spend their time in that. After all, there was nothing wrong in the boy wishing to practice daily in order to be able to pick up blunt steel as soon as they reached White Harbour.

  “Good,” Sansa’s brother had said, happily. “I have to practice soon or I am not going to be as good at it anymore. I don’t want that. When we reach Winterfell, Mother and Robb have to see I’m as good as my elder brothers.”

  _Fuck_ , Sandor had thought, exchanging a glance with Sansa, who was gulping and rubbing her hands nervously together. The little bird had still not told her brother the truth about what had happened at the Red Wedding. Sandor had seen over the past days in the wild how several times Sansa would open her mouth as if to finally speak the truth, but something in her brother’s face always stopped her, for in the blink of an eye her courage would leave her, thinking better of it.

  “The fire needs to be fed,” the wildling woman remarked casually, looking at the little bird.

  Sandor and Sansa understood. Even Osha knew that Rickon could not go to White Harbour without knowing that his father’s bannermen would be looking to him as the Stark heir that would reunite the north once again. He could overhear someone mentioning the Freys’ betrayal, or start asking questions about why the Manderlys were pleading their allegiance to _him_ rather than his kingly brother.

  Sansa almost winced as Rickon went on, asking, “Will we send a raven to them when we are in White Harbour, Sansa? I want to see them. And Grey Wind. I bet Shaggy is as big as him by now!”

  He didn’t like to see the little bird looking so tense or unsure, but before he could even blink it seemed that Rickon’s last words were just too much for Sansa, for she stood up after taking a deep breath, saying, “Yes Rickon, but first, why don’t you come with me to fetch some sticks for the fire?”

  _Seven hells_ , Sandor had thought, starting to stand up as well, unsure if the bird would want him or not for some kind of support. But Sansa turned her face in his direction and gave him a small reassuring smile to let him know that though she was grateful, she needed to do this alone.

  Sansa had told Shaggydog to stay by the fire, but the wolf never listened, stalking after her and Rickon at once. Sandor had looked at Osha then, and by the way the woman was regarding the boy, it was fucking obvious that Rickon was not going to take the bloody news kindly.

  Sandor stared over in silence at the little bird as she knelt beside a great pair of rocks, watching her brother collect thick wooden sticks for the fire. He could not hear what they were saying since the siblings had walked out of earshot of the clearing but he was able to see how every passing minute, but Sandor could see the way young Rickon had started to clench his jaw and grit his teeth, before he fisted his hands and started shakng his head in disbelief.

  When Sansa pulled her brother to her and hugged him, Rickon had pushed her sister away at once, screaming loud enough for Osha and Sandor to hear, “NO, they’re not!”

  Sandor could not help himself the moment he saw Shaggydog snarl a warning to Sansa for upsetting his master, baring his teeth at her. _Fucking_ _thrice damned buggering hells_ , he had thought, feeling as if his heart had lodged in his throat as he stood up at once, drawing out his sword from its scabbard, ready to use it against the bloody direwolf if it attacked Sansa. Sandor was barely aware of the wildling woman quickly following him, for his eyes were fixed on Sansa’s tear-stained face and on the wolf as he ran to reach them.

  The little bird had begun to plead with her brother for him to listen to her, but the boy was past caring. He yelled angrily, “No! You stop saying that, Sansa! You stop! They’re _alive!_ ”

  Shaggydog’s green eyes were fixed on Sansa as he started walking around her and Rickon, full of fury, his fangs still bare in rage.

  “Please, Rickon,” Sansa had begun to say, choking back a sob. “It _is_ true. You have to understand that-”

  But before she could even finish her brother had swirled around and ran away from her, as fast as his legs could carry him. The direwolf had snarled at the little bird one last time before leaping back, swiftly stalking after his master like some restless dark shadow in the wild woods.

  When Sandor had reached Sansa, he had fallen to his knees beside her, his longsword forgotten as he wrapped his arms around his bird, so fucking relieved that she had come out of this whole bloody mess unharmed. He had stared at Osha quickly as she ran after Rickon and Shaggy, before taking Sansa’s face in his hands so he could get her attention, as he asked her if she was all right, and what had happened.

  “I have to go look for him before he gets hurt,” was all she had replied, struggling in his arms.

  He had opened his mouth to say something, but as Sandor gazed down at his bird’s worried grief-stricken face, no words came out. Letting go of her slowly, he had finally rasped, “We’ll go look for him _together_.”

  Sandor was not going to lose sight of Sansa as she went looking for her brother in the woods. The little bird did not even seem to have heard him. When he let her go of her, she had turned around and started running after her brother at once, with Sandor following her a heartbeat later.

  It took them all day to find Rickon. The hours had seemed to creep by slowly as they looked for the boy everywhere, or for any sign of Shaggydog that they could find. Sandor had rarely seen Sansa looking as worried as she did that day. She even tripped more than once while she ran through the woods, getting up the next moment determinedly, with a new scratch on her hands or her face. _Seven thrice damned hells_ , he had cursed silently the fourth time that had happened, going to one knee to see if she was all right, rasping, “Bird, you have to calm down. You are going to hurt yourself if you keep on going like this.”

  Sansa had shaken her head, and replied hoarsely, “I should not have told him. He was not ready.”

  “He was never going to be ready for something like that,” he had answered. “But Rickon had to learn the truth. If you hadn’t done this, once your brother was old enough to understand, he would have ended up resenting you. I know you don’t think it looks that way right now, but you just made sure that you would never lose his trust.”

  As his bird sniffed, clearly not really listening to his words in these moments, Sandor had shaken his head resignedly standing up and offering Sansa his hand to pull her to her feet, snarling, “Come. Let’s keep on searching for him. We need to find him before it gets dark.”

  It wasn’t until an hour after dusk that they stumbled upon Osha coming out of a clearing. They began to ask her at once if she had found Rickon.

  “Yes, he’s fallen asleep before a weirdwood tree in the clearing back there,” she’d replied. “Shaggydog found me first.”

  Sandor had been surprised at hearing Rickon was asleep, for he had imagined that the boy would be hiding somewhere with a rock in his hand, ready to slash at the first one of them that found him. Sansa had covered her mouth with her hands, gasping, “Oh gods,” before walking over to the clearing, Osha and Sandor following her at once. A short distance away there had been a footpath of sorts, with moss and half-buried dirt beneath fallen leaves, made treacherous by thick brown roots pushing up from underneath for over a thousand years ago.

  The little bird led the way to the clearing in the deep of the wood where giant weirwoods had been growing in a rough circle. The air in that place had smelt of earth and decay, making Sandor feel as if they all had suddenly entered some strange underworld, some timeless place beneath the worlds.

  There were three heart trees, each with a different face carved into it: one was smiling, one was screaming, and one looked angry. But the eyes in all three had been crusted with dried sap, red-blood. Rickon had been sleeping peacefully before the angry looking tree, with Shaggydog beside him, sitting on his haunches. The wolf had stared at them all weary for a moment, but had made no move to stop them as they approached his master.

  That night and the next day none of them could make Rickon talk. The boy had silently agreed to return with them back to the sodding crofter’s cottage, but had willfully refused to talk or eat or even be in the same room with them, going to the stable at the back of the cabin just so he could be alone and brood over how the world had fucked him up once again, looking red-eyed and defiant all the while. The wildling woman had seemed concerned for the boy but not surprised, and Sansa had been hurt at her brother’s behavior when Osha managed to coax the first words from Rickon hours later.

  Sandor did not try to talk to the boy in those first days, for he knew what Rickon must have been feeling, just as he knew it was better to let him grieve alone until the initial shock passed. It was just like Sansa had reacted back in Braavos when the bird had learned about the deaths of her mother and brother.

  When he pointed that out to her in an attempt to make her realize that Rickon was not taking the news so differently from the way she had, his little bird had stopped going to the stable at the back of the house to check on her brother, spending her time instead in silent bloody prayer.

  By nightfall on the second day, Rickon had surprised them all as he silently entered the crofter’s cabin with Shaggydog, walking over to his sister and throwing his arms around her without a word. Both of them had started to cry then, clinging to one another desperately, to the point where Osha and Sandor knew that it was best to leave the siblings alone. That night Rickon fell asleep beside Sansa on the bedroll they shared, after he had made her promise to him over and over again that she would not leave him, while the little bird cradled him in her arms…

  “What are you thinking?” Sandor asked Sansa when he came back to the present as Sansa stretched her body next him.

  “About you,” she admitted softly, burying her face into his chest, snuggling closer to him, as he lightly ran his hand up and down the length of her back. She was only wearing her underclothes right now, while he was only clad in his breeches, their clothes discarded some distance away, close to the sea.

  “Me?” he growled, tilting his neck to the side so that he could try and catch a glimpse of his little wife’s face, but all he could see was the top of her head.

  “Yes,” she said, nodding. “About how at ease you looked in the sea when I found you. About how you truly look like a northerner with your grey eyes and dark hair. You should have been born up here. The men of the north are strong and that is what you are. Not only as a warrior, but you are my strength too.”

  Sandor chuckled, a rough sour sound. “Aye, I might look like one, but I don’t think that will improve what the northerners will think of me, little bird.”

  Sansa shifted on the ground at that, propping herself up with one elbow, one hand on her cheek and the other one playing with the hair on his chest, as she asked him, “And since when have you cared what people think or say about you?”

  “Bugger that, bird. I never have, but you know I do care what they think or say about _you_ ,” he snarled, grabbing Sansa’s shoulders and drawing her closer to him until she was laying on him, sprawled across his chest. Sansa silently leaned down so that she could kiss him, caressing his scarred lips with her tongue as she pressed her body down against him, running her hands through his scarred scalp and his hair.

  Sandor deepened the kiss, letting his hands roam all over his bird’s body, caressing every line and curve, until Sansa moaned into his mouth when he jerked his hips upwards, pressing his need against her. The little bird drew an intake of breath at that, breaking the kiss, before she buried her pretty face on the crook of his neck, kissing him there.

  When they drew apart after a time, Sandor, breathing heavily against Sansa’s mouth, asked his bird, “Talking about the north, you remember that godswood where we found your brother?”

  Sansa nodded even as she went on kissing his neck and, he continued with a hoarse growl, “Would you marry me there today, little bird?”

  Sandor was from the Westerlands, and had been born in the light of the Seven, but it had been a lifetime ago since he had prayed to any gods. _Makes no fucking matter anyways_. They still had to marry by her father’s gods, which was the faith almost all of the north followed. _And now that we have finally found a white and red tree, I don’t think it wise to wait any_ _longer_.

  “Oh yes!” Sansa exclaimed at once, leaning back, meeting his gaze with those bright blue eyes of hers that resembled a sunlit sea in which he would happily let himself drown. “Oh gods, I- I had forgotten about that because of what happened to Rickon, but yes darling, of course. We should get married by the old gods before it is too late, nothing would make me happier!”

  She was looking down at him with a smile as bright as the sun as she said those words, which made him feel certain that he was likely going to remember this moment till the day he died. Sandor reached out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Sansa’s ear, laughing. His bird raised an eyebrow at him, tracing the outline of his scarred mouth with her finger with a thoughtful expression.

  When his laughter died away he rasped, “How is your brother?”

  “He was asleep when I left the cottage,” Sansa replied, running her feet along the length of his legs, the expression in her eyes unreadable. “But you saw him last night. I- I think he _is_ a little better, and has deep down come to believe that I told him is true. But I don’t think he will be truly accepting for the time being.”

  He could hear the grief in Sansa’s voice, and as he remembered the time he had spent on the galley with Rickon, getting to know the boy better, Sandor found himself saying confidently, “Rickon will be angry for a long time, Sansa, and I doubt he will ever forget the wrongs he has suffered. Not that he bloody should though. But you love your brother, bird. Rickon is aware of it just as you know that he feels the same for you. And that will help you both.”

  Sansa’s face had changed as he said those words, and when he was done, she chirped softly, “Have I ever told you how much I love you, Sandor? I do, so very, _very_ much. These past two days with Rickon, I- I wouldn’t have- thank you for being there for me, big man.”

  The way she looked at him when she said that tore at Sandor’s heart to the point where he wondered if all of this was not really only just a fucking dream. He had discovered that he felt like this at times; whenever his beautiful wife blushed prettily at him after he caressed her neck or whispered something in her ear, or when she said how much she loved him, or asked him if she made him happy. But that feeling always only lasted for some moments, for Sandor would then remember that it was not a dream but reality, and his little bird was truly his, and after her there really wasn’t anything better he could ever want in this life.

  “Come here, she-wolf” was all Sandor could growl now, cupping his wife’s face and kissing her hard until she parted her full soft lips, deepening the kiss as she slid her tongue inside his mouth, happy in the knowledge that the range of love Sansa was capable of was mostly his; and glad because most of the times when she was looking at him, a smile would appear on her beautiful face- something which he had longed for so long back in King’s Landing that made it all the more important to him now.

  In the matter of moments, his eager little bird reached between them so that she could take his hard-throbbing cock in her hand as she sat up, straddling him, ready to guide him deep inside of her again as he grinded himself against her, his hands on her hips.

  Sandor let out a low groan, holding Sansa hard against him, growling, “Fucking hells, little bird, don’t stop.”

 

***

 

  Later that day Sandor, Sansa, Rickon, Osha and Shaggydog all went to the godswood.  Sansa was dressed in the same white and grey gown she had worn for her wedding to Sandor by the Seven back in Braavos, the cloak of House Stark once again clad about her shoulders, while Sandor wore the remaining clean tunic that he had, as well as patched brown breeches and his leather jerkin, with the cloak in the colours of House Clegane which she had embroidered for him falling down his broad muscled back.

  All Sansa seemed able to do now as they walked through the forest was to thank her father’s gods for allowing her to be with Sandor. _Thank you for looking after us in Essos, and thank you because we are still alive. And also, thank you because Rickon has not pushed me away in his grief_. But most of all, Sansa was thanking the gods because both Sandor and she were so committed to taking care of their love, and were willing to make it work no matter what lay in store for them.

  Sansa had feared this yesterday since her brother had refused to talk to her for a long time, but by nightfall, thanks in part to Osha, Rickon had gone to seek comfort with Sansa at last, and they had both ended up crying in each other’s arms as they remembered how it had felt to be at Winterfell with their father and mother and brothers and sister.

  And even this morning when Sansa and Sandor had come back from the seashore, arm in arm, the moment Rickon saw her he had run to her with a worried face, asking her where had she gone, and had then refused to have her out of his sight all day long. It seemed as if he feared he would lose Sansa if he was not with her every moment. The only time he had agreed to leave her was when Sandor had proposed that they should practice their fighting lessons as a distraction. Sansa’s big man had told her later that he had never seen Rickon so passionate and focused in learning how to wield a sword. Osha had joked that it seemed as if the little lordling was stealing Hagen Edar’s place as her sworn arrow in their absence, since it was now her brother who was the one following her around everywhere.

  Sansa knew that since her brother and a wildling woman would be the only witnesses that would attend her wedding ceremony this time, most of the people who would disapprove of her marriage to Sandor would say that it was not valid because of it, but Sansa did not care. This ceremony was true to her and Sandor, and that was all that _really_ mattered in the end. _If they want us to marry again before them then we will do so as many times as its necessary_.

  She just wanted to do this because she knew it was not only necessary for her to marry her big man before the old gods, but because it was important to her as a Stark. _And even if Sandor does not believe in any gods, he is willing to go through the wedding ceremony again_. That thought made her smile and reach out for Sandor’s hand as they finally reached the godswood, giving it a squeeze.

  The moment Sansa laid eyes upon the three heart trees, a certain sense of peace descend upon her heart as she remembered how she had felt two days ago when she had _finally_ gazed upon a weirdwood tree after so long, even if she had been worried sick about Rickon’s disappearance. Sansa looked up at Sandor, who was regarding the godswood before them with his usual scowl, and smiled, leading him into the clearing, his hand still in hers.

  “Come, big man,” she said, approaching the weirwoods as her heart started beating inside her chest in excitement, aware that Osha, Rickon and Shaggydog had stopped outside the clearing to watch from a respectful distance. Sandor only grunted and followed her.

  When Sandor and Sansa were before the smiling heart tree, Sansa knelt down, smoothing her skirts in the process. Sandor stood for a moment unsure as to what was expected of him, but a heartbeat later Sansa heard him taking a deep breath before he also went down to his knees, staring at the weirwood before them. Sansa fixed her attention on the heart tree as well, glad that she was not as nervous as she had been on her wedding under the Faith, because in this ceremony it was she the one that needed to take the lead.

  The heart trees looked to be the same age and size, still possessing a timeless beauty that made them just as imposing to Sansa as when she had been a little girl visiting the weirwood in Winterfell’s godswood with her father and brothers and Arya.  The trees’ wide smooth trunks were bone pale, and their bony limbs where spread wide, and about their trunks on the forest floor, fallen five-pointed leaves lay carpeted in drifts of red and brown.

  “What do we do now?” Sandor asked, looking at her.

  “We pray,” she replied.

  Sandor stared at her in a way that made it clear he was not going to start talking to a tree, so she only shrugged in answer to his reaction and said, “The gods are watching us.”

  Silence reigned in the clearing for a time as Sansa looked into the red eyes of the carved face upon the weirdwood, wondering if Sandor could really not feel as if the old gods were looking right inside his soul the way she was did as she opened her heart to them. _She_ could almost believe at times that the gods were trying to talk back to her with every gust of wind that ran through the clearing.

 With a resigned shake of her head, Sansa clear her throat to gather her thoughts, and began to thank the gods for allowing her to find a man whom she could know real love with. A man who was loyal and strong and brave and gentle, and true, before she started praying for the Manderlys to support their cause, and for her and Rickon to be able to be reunited with Bran and Arya and Jon again, as well as for the war ahead and the promised long winter that was taking over all of the Seven Kingdoms after the years of the long summer.

  There was a moment when Sansa, lost in her prayers, thought she had heard someone whisper her name, but when she opened her eyes and saw that her big man was still staring at the heart tree with narrowed eyes, Sansa gathered that it must have been the faint sound of leaves rustling that had disturbed the solemn peace of the godswood.

  Sandor caught her staring at him and she quickly turned around to look at him. She gave him a reassuring smile to let him know it was time.

  “Tell them who you are,” she whispered at him, when he arched an eyebrow at her, waiting for a signal, not caring one bit if this was not the _exact_ manner in which wedding ceremonies in the north proceeded, but there was no one to give her away but Rickon who was still too young to stand in their father’s place. _So long as the old gods see us, it should be enough for me and Sandor and them_.

  Sandor nodded in understanding and turned to look at the smiling weirdwood before him before he said in a strong rough voice, “I am Sandor of House Clegane, and I come here to claim Sansa of House Stark as my lady and my wife, whom I worship and promise to keep safe until my last day.”

  “And I am Sansa of House Stark,” Sansa replied confidently once Sandor was done and had lowered his eyes to hers, her gaze flickering between the heart tree and her big man. “I am a woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, seeking the blessing of the gods in my marriage to Sandor of House Clegane, the man I love with all my heart. I take this man for my lord and husband.”

  Sansa had memorized the wedding vows in both of her parents’ faiths by heart, glad that she had not forgotten the correct words at present, before she joined hands with Sandor. Her big man’s calloused thumb began to caress her skin as she bowed her head in the direction of the heart tree in a token of submission after Sandor has said, “I take you for my lady and wife.”

  As Sandor said those words, Sansa caught the solemnity behind her big man’s rough voice, which made her smile, finding it comforting as she found herself wishing she could kiss him in that moment. When he was done speaking and Sansa had stared for a little too long at Sandor, she had to quickly shake her head in an attempt at gathering herself, before returning her attention to the old gods. After a moment of silent prayer she squeezed Sandor’s hand and said softly, “Now we must exchange cloaks.”

  “Aye, bird,” he snarled, standing up.

  Sandor pulled her gently to her feet, grinning down at her. The sight of his warm smile was so precious to Sansa that no words she could ever come up with would really let Sandor know just how much she treasured being the one that brought that smile to his face.

  So instead, with tears of joy threatening to fall down her cheeks at any moment, Sansa placed her hand above the strong beating heart of Sandor for support as she stood on tip toes and cupped her husband’s burned cheek in her hand.

  “Little bird,” Sandor said, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone, leaning into her touch.

  When he began to lower his head so that he could claim her mouth, Sansa giggled and took a step back, her fingertips caressing Sandor’s neck as she said, “The cloaks first, big man.”

  Her husband snorted and nodded in agreement, almost rolling his eyes at her. Sandor stepped behind her and undid her maiden’s cloak, saying, “Rickon, could you please help us?”

  Sansa’s little brother nodded and walked into the godswood so that he could grab the cloak of House Stark from Sandor’s arms so that her husband could fasten a yellow cloak with three black dogs running on it upon her shoulders. Sansa smiled at Rickon as Osha walked over to help him with the cloak that was heavier than he could manage, and winked at him when her brother met her eyes.

  Sandor’s hands never shook as he clasped his cloak about her shoulders. Quick as that, the wedding was done. Weddings went more quickly in the north. Sansa supposed that it came of not having any priests to preside over the ceremony.

  Looking up at Sandor’s face as he came to stand before her, Sansa stared deep into her big man’s grey eyes as he regarded her with a strange expression, smiling as she recognized the glint of amusement in them.

  “What?” she asked, taking a step closer to him.

  “Can I kiss you _now_?” Sandor rasped, drawing a laugh from her.

  “Yes you may,” she finally replied, wondering how she could blush _now_ , after everything they had lived through. She took Sandor’s hand in her own and placed a kiss on his palm, saying, “We are married by the Old Gods too now.”

  Her big man scooped her by the waist at once and raised her easily in his arms until she was hovering in the air before him, looking _down_ at him, her body pressed against the length of Sandor’s tightly. She laughed, overwhelmed by the happiness and joy she was feeling in these moments, wrapping her arms around Sandor’s neck as he slowly lowered her until she had her arms securely wrapped around his neck, and kissed her at last. Her lips parted for Sandor’s tongue even as her feet still dangled in the air, Sansa heard Osha mutter to her brother, “Come little lord. Let’s give them a few moments alone.”

  They were both a bit breathless when Sandor set her back on the ground as Rickon began to protest, but then the wildling woman told him that Sansa was not going to disappear into thin air if he lost sight of her for a time. Her brother followed Osha after that in sullen silence.

  Once they were alone in the middle of the weirdwood clearing with only the gods to watch over them, Sansa took hold of Sandor’s hand and placed the other one on his muscled chest, right above the spot where she could feel the strong beating of his heart.

  “What in seven hells are you doing, bird?” Sandor growled suspicious, looking down at her pointedly.

  Taking a step closer to him, Sansa said in a voice barely louder than a whisper or the sound of the wind rustling the heart trees’ leaves, “Hush. Don’t say anything. Please just- just hold me.”

  They were now married by the Old Gods and the New, but they had not had a proper wedding feast or even a wedding. _I just want to have at least one dance with him to remember our wedding day by._

  A heartbeat later, Sansa’s big man brought one of his hands beneath her wedding cloak until it rested on the small of her back, as his other circled her waist, making Sansa beam up at him. It was not exactly a dance. Sandor just stood there allowing her to sway him slightly backwards and forward, but it did not matter to Sansa, since she had already started to relish the closeness of having her husband’s powerful body against her, overwhelmed at how nice and safe she felt in his strong arms. When Sandor started tracing circles with his hand on her back, Sansa fisted the fabric of his leather jerking in her hand, wishing to feel the hard muscle underneath, and raised her head to meet her love’s eyes when her big man rasped, “Little bird, look at me.”

  Rubbing his nose against hers, Sandor growled her name before he claimed her mouth slowly, making her sigh in happiness as he kissed her until she was breathless and dizzy and vexed at him for breaking the kiss, teasing her, and leaving her desiring for more…

 

***

 

_He padded over the dry needles and brown leaves, towards the edge of the deep wood where the trees grew thin. The wolf had first caught the scent the moment he left night behind the den men had built of wood and grass and mud._

_Stepping beneath a rock, the wolf sniffed. Men. The sigh of a piney wind brought the man-scents to him again, over fainter smells that spoke of horse and hare and other prey. He had caught their rank smell from a long distance, and now he stalked towards the place where it came from as fast as he could. He had no fear of men, but he knew that men in packs were dangerous for his master and the others._

_When he found them the wolf stared at the men and the horses riding past him behind the hill where he had hidden, and was just about to go meet them at the foot of the hill when a voice inside him whispered,_ You know those men.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter (: Please let me know. Your reviews mean SO much to me, and I appreciate it more than you know that you take the time to read the updates!


	44. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> *To the most wonderful Onborrowedwings, who has been a grand friend, a great support, a terrific beta, I bow down to you in gratitude for you help!! :D  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

  Sansa woke up with a start, blinking rapidly, the sight the wolf was at this very moment beholding still vividly clear within her mind. She tried to sit upright at once, fear already clutching at her heart at the approaching danger, but was unable to do so since a heavy bulk was looming above her, pinning her to the bedroll beneath her.

  She recognized Sandor immediately, but was strangely enough too breathless and flushed from having run through the woods as Shaggydog just mere moments before to do much but stay still for a heartbeat in an attempt to gather her thoughts, with goose bumps and a tingling rush of emotions coursing through her.

  But it was no good to try and gather herself, for Sandor was kissing her neck, his hands roaming all over her body as he moved above her, parting her legs with his knee. Sansa could already feel his hard need against her thigh.

  _No_ , Sansa thought at once, realizing that what her brother’s direwolf had just seen could really not be discarded. She loved whenever her big man woke her up like this, but right now they had to hurry.

  “Stop,” she said at last, trying to sit up again.

  “Little bird,” Sandor rasped, leaving her neck and claiming her mouth, not even hearing her words.

  Sansa placed her hands on his chest, pushing him aside, wriggling underneath him, as she exclaimed, “Sandor, stop. What are you doing?”

  Sandor’s black shoulder length hair obscured half of his face as he drew back, looking down at her with an amused frown. “What does it look like I’m sodding doing? Rickon and Osha went away to hunt. I thought we may as well make good use of the bedroll and the cabin while they are gone.”

  Sansa’s eyes grew wide at that. She quickly turned her head around to look around her, noticing that they were indeed alone. She gulped with fear before Sandor’s hand started to slide up her thigh, his scarred lips already tracing kisses on the line of her jaw.

  Elbowing him away with all the strength she could muster, Sansa said firmly, “Sandor let me go!”

  Sandor moved away, scowling at her as she finally sat up and grabbed her shoes, which she had left beside her bedroll last night.

  “Bleeding hells, what the fuck has gotten into you, Sansa?” her husband asked her in a hurt exasperated tone.

  She looked at him at that, meting his gaze before explaining with a voice she could not manage to keep composed and calm, “Sandor, we have to go for Rickon and Osha. They are not safe out there! I saw- I mean, there are men close by.”

  “What?” he asked at once, sitting up as well, his grey eyes growing as big as saucers.

  “I think there are riders approaching,” she told him, hoping he would not ask her how she knew this when she herself had trouble coming up with possibilities as to what being able to see through a direwolf’s eyes could mean _I just know that there are riders nearby and that they have seen Shaggy by now._

  “What are you talking about, Sansa?” Sandor said, standing up with her.

  Shaking her head she shrugged, already heading towards the cottage’s door. “I- I dreamed that there were riders looking for something through the woods. Looking for us, I believe. But I don’t know if they are friends or foes.”

  Sansa had woken up before she could be certain if the smells Shaggydog had recognized were of Hagen Edar and Lord Seaworth, but even so, they could not risk letting their guard down until they had met them and talked to them first. _Maybe they are our friends looking for us, but they could have been forced to become turn cloaks under threat to their lives_. Sansa shivered, for that possibility would be too painful to bear.

  Sandor called her name twice, but Sansa was too preoccupied with the possibility of strangers finding her brother or hurting his wolf to care to stop. She was almost at the edge of the grove of trees the cottage was located at when her big man caught up with her and grabbed her by the elbow, yanking her around so that she could face him. With a strong grip, Sandor held on to her as she struggled feebly, and grabbed her chin firmly, lifting her face up so that he could look at her as he snarled, “Little bird, look at me. What the fuck is going on? You wake up looking as if you had just seen a bloody ghost and won’t tell me anything except that some riders are looking for us. But you said you dreamed this. How do you know that it isn’t anything more to it than that, bird?”

  “Sandor _please_ , it wasn’t only a dream,” she pleaded.

  “But how do you know it-” he began to protest, before Sansa interrupted him.

 “I don’t know _how_ , I just- I just do, darling,” she said. “And even if it was a dream, I will not rest easy until we’ve found Rickon and Shaggy and Osha. Help me find them please.”

  For a moment Sansa feared that Sandor would say she was going mad. His grey eyes bore into hers, but her big man must have seen something in her face as he looked down at her that made him change his mind. He released her slowly, giving her a curt nod, and rasped, “Very well. Let me just go fetch my sword.”

  He turned around and quickly strode across the clearing, entering the deserted crofter’s small house. Sansa closed her eyes, taking in small even breaths. She wasn’t sure what was happening with her. She had not dreamed she was her brother’s direwolf since the night before Rickon found her at Ragman’s Harbour back in Braavos many weeks ago. She had meant to ask Rickon if he also dreamed he was Shaggydog at times, and had gone so far as to consider talking to Osha about this, but after she told her brother about what had happened to their lady mother and to Robb, these rare and strange dreams had been forgotten.

  The sudden sound of leaves and twigs breaking disturbed the silence that had settled upon the groove, making Sansa give a start and whirl around, holding her breath. She sighed in relief when she saw that it was the wildling woman and Rickon who had made the noise. Osha had her little brother by the hand as the two of them swiftly made their way towards her.

  Sansa ran to meet up with them, going to her knees so she could give Rickon a hug, thanking the Old Gods and the New for keeping him safe.

  “Sansa, there are men coming,” Rickon told her, unfortunately confirming her suspicions. “I and Osha saw them right after we hid behind some rocks. Shaggy saw them too and went to fight them before I could stop him.”

  “How many?” Sandor rasped, making Sansa turn around to look at him, still clutching her brother to her. His longsword was in his hand, Sansa saw, and he was also wearing his chainmail.

  “I counted six, m’lord,” Osha replied, changing the spear she had made for herself in the last couple of days from her right hand to the left one.

  “Were Hagen or Lord Davos among them?” Sansa asked.

  The wildling woman shrugged. “Didn’t get a chance to see. Thought it best to hide till they passed us by and came here at once. If they are Hagen and Lord Seaworth then they will be here soon enough. The last we saw of the wolf was him running off to meet them. He will lead them here just as we expected and planned back on the ship.”

  “He could end up leading them here _if_ Shaggy doesn’t try to kill them or their horses,” Sandor observed, offering Sansa his hand so she could stand up. “If there are really only six of them Osha and I may not have much trouble finishing the buggers off if it comes to it.”

  Sansa saw the strange way Sandor was regarding her as he spoke. She knew he was wondering how was it possible that her dream could turn out to be true. She almost looked away at that thought in embarrassment, fearing what Sandor would think of her if he knew, but ended up shaking that notion away, remembering that there were more pressing matters presently. 

  “What do you mean by that?” she asked him, stepping closer to him. “Surely you aren’t thinking of going away searching for them and leaving me and Rickon here alone, are you? What if the riders come this way before you even find them?”

  Sandor’s mouth began to twitch and as he nodded at Osha and the wildling woman led Rickon by the hand towards the cottage, her big man raised a hand to her face so he could tuck behind her ear a loose lock of hair, and growled, “You remember how to use the dagger?”

  “Yes,” she answered, with a nod. “But dearest, I don’t think that-”

  “Little bird,” Sandor interrupted, kissing the top of her head as he drew her close to him with his arm, hugging her even as he rubbed her back. “I won’t let them come near you if I can help it.”

  Sansa looked up at her husband’s burned face, and gave him a poor attempt at a smile and a nod, willing herself to be strong for Rickon. Sandor cupped her face and leaned down to kiss her quickly before they went back to the cottage, hand in hand.

  When they stepped inside and Osha muttered that she was ready, Rickon ran to Sansa’s side, hugging her leg as he said, “Sansa, don’t let them go! Don’t go away.”

  Sandor squeezed her hand at that as some sort of silent reassurance. Sansa opened her mouth, meaning to tell little Rickon that he was not going to be left alone, but never got an opportunity to say the words, for in that moment the loud sound of hooves was heard nearby.

 

***

 

  _Seven bloody fucking hells!_ Sandor met his little bird’s eyes and saw fear in their blue depths as they heard the sound of the approaching riders getting louder. Three pairs of eyes were fixed on him as he rasped a curse under his breath and muttered, “Don’t talk,” to Osha, Rickon and Sansa.

  He made his way over to the window by the door as silently as he could, flexing his sword hand, ready to make the steel in his hand sing if the fuckers were looking for trouble. _How in seven hells could the little bird have known that they were coming?_ Sandor wanted to know, as he quickly glanced at the sight outside the cabin.

  A small party of riders where halting in the middle of the grove of trees outside, led into it by none other than Shaggydog himself. Sansa had been right. There were six riders, but not all of them were men. There were also two women, and elderly knight, as well as a boy who Sandor supposed was the knight’s squire. But there, at the front of the small party just behind the direwolf, were Hagen Edar and the bloody Onion Knight.

  _About fucking time they got here_ , Sandor thought, as he rasped, “It’s Hagen and the Onion along with two men and two women,” Sandor informed the others, watching as Shaggydog took one last look at the riders before he walked over towards the cabin.

  The direwolf stepped inside and silently made his way towards Rickon. The boy threw his arms around the beast’s neck, as Edar called loudly from outside, “Byan? Jeyne? Osha? My friends, are you in there?”

  “We bring good tidings,” Seaworth’s voice said a moment later. “And friends who are willing to stand up for our cause.”

  Sandor and Sansa locked gazes, and when the little bird nodded, Sandor knew the time had come to meet them. _I fucking hope that Davos is speaking the truth, or else_ … Sandor had liked the smuggler well enough, but he would not hesitate to kill him if the bugger was returning to them as a turn cloak.

  “Don’t come outside,” he instructed the others in a rough whisper, as he strode over to the doorway. But before he had even taken four steps, the little bird rushed to his side, grabbing him by the arm.

  Sandor arched an eyebrow at her, snarling, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, bird?”

  Sansa met his gaze unflinchingly. Her face was dirty, and there was a scratch on her cheek, but to Sandor she was just as beautiful as ever when she replied, “You really don’t think I am going to let you go out there alone, do you? Sandor, we are in this together. We always have. I know you wanted me to stay here hidden, but that can’t be helped now that they have found us. Whatever waits outside this house, I am not going to let you face it alone.”

  “Sansa, don’t you realize-” Sandor started to tell his little bird, before bloody Edar interrupted him as he shouted from outside, “Oh come on, you fools. You can trust us.”

  Sandor cursed out loud, thinking fast. He wasn’t keen on letting Sansa or Rickon be seen until he made certain of how matters stood outside, but he also knew that determined expression in the little bird’s face well enough by now to know that Sansa was going to follow him if he told her to stay inside.

  “Let’s go then,” he said gruffly, jerking his head in the doorway’s direction.

  His bird smiled up at him and placed her hand on his arm, following him as they made their way out of the cabin. Quickly registering the sight before him with wary eyes, Sandor noticed that Hagen Edar had his bow and quiver full of arrows attached at his back, and Davos had a sword on him again. The two women appeared to be unarmed, but the boy and the old knight weren’t. The former had two daggers on him and the man had a longsword inside his scabbard. _I can finish them all if it comes to it_.

  “Ah, Lord Sandor!” Hagen Edar exclaimed smiling, as he dismounted from his horse before bowing in Sandor’s direction, handing the reins of his horse to Davos. Sandor scowled at that, remembering the morning aboard _The King of the Seas_ when the mad Lorathi had told him he supposed he ought to start calling him Lord in order to make Sandor get used to his new position as Sansa’s husband.

  “And my Lady Sansa too, at long last! Blessed be this morning!”

  “Edar,” Sandor acknowledged as he scowled at the man, conscious already of the stares the strangers were giving him and the little bird as they stood outside the cabin, Sansa’s hand on his arm. 

  “Hagen,” Sansa said, smiling, even as Sandor pulled her behind him in caution. “It is so good to see you again. And you as well Lord Seaworth. I hope everything is well with you?”

  “It is,” Sandor remarked, unable to hold back a laugh. “Else he wouldn’t be here right now with his head still attached to his shoulders.”

  Sansa almost chuckled at his words, but settled with squeezing his forearm. Seaworth laughed at Sandor’s words, saying, “Your husband is right, Lady Stark, thank the Seven. But to the world I must still be a dead man for some days.”

  As the Onion dismounted, Hagen Edar went to one knee before the little bird, exclaiming, “I trust I find you in good spirits, my lady? Your sworn arrow has returned to your side as promised.”

  Still smiling, Sansa nodded, saying softly as she regarded the strangers with an expression that revealed nothing, and which Sandor had seen often enough in King’s Landing, “Please rise, Edar. I have missed my gallant protector these past few days.”

  “I thank you, my lady. You and Lord Clegane have been missed as well,” the Lorathi replied, standing up. “I bring you good news which I know you will want to hear at once.”

  “Indeed, but won’t you first introduce my husband and me to our new allies?” the bird chirped. Sandor held back a snort, had never seen a sorrier lot of allies. _A boy, an old man and two women. Sisters by the look of them._   Sandor would have snorted at that had he not been mindful of what was expected of him as the bird’s bloody husband.

  “Yes of course,” Hagen said, pointing at each of the strangers in turn. “The gracious lady with the grey coat is Wynafryd Manderly, and the young lady beside her is Wylla, her sister. They are Lord Wyman’s granddaughters, heirs to White Harbour after their father, as I am sure you already knew.

  The charming wise knight beside them is Ser Marlon Manderly, cousin to Lord Manderly, as well as commander of White Harbour’s remaining garrison. And the lad at the back is Wex from Pyke. He was Theon Greyjoy’s squire I am told, and the one who followed Rickon and Osha after they left Winterfell.

  My ladies, ser, Wex, it is my honour to present to you my liege lady Sansa Stark and her husband, Lord Sandor Clegane.”

  As Edar said each of the Manderlys’ names in turn, they all bowed their heads in respect at Sansa, but when Hagen said his name, the shy smiles were swiped off their faces in the blink of an eye as they stared at him uncertainly, shifting in their saddles, clearly uncomfortable with the confirmation that Ned Stark’s daughter had married The Hound.

  Sandor knew what they were all thinking. It was the same hard look The Onion had in his eyes when he questioned Sandor about Sansa’s honour back in Braavos. It was a small comfort to know that when the matter was brought into question, both he and his little bird would be able to defend their actions when their affair during the months they had spent in Essos was brought to the table by the people of the North. _And by Stannis rigid Baratheon_.

  After Sansa had exchanged some empty courtesies with the Manderlys, while Sandor just looked at them all with his usual brooding scowl, Hagen stretched his arms behind his head, remarking, “At last we have found you, and thank the gods for that! We’ve been looking for you for four days now. If it wasn’t for Shaggy we would have already ridden off in a different direction.

  It is unbelievable to me how we got lost in these northern woods when I used to know the Hills of Norvos like the palm of my hand! Well, at least until your bloody horse almost killed me, remember? Oh and before I forget, Stranger is doing well, my lord. As is Nan. We thought it best to leave them in the city. The poor beasts have suffered enough. But as I was saying, finding you was harder than we thought it would be. Once under the trees, the stony ground and fallen leaves made any trail you may have left hard to see or find.”

  Sandor almost snorted as the sodding Lorathi went on talking, realizing that he had _almost_ missed Edar’s endless blabbering, before the oldest of the Manderly sisters interrupted Hagen by saying, “My lord, we have found two members of the party you promised us would be here, but where may I ask are the others? Where is the boy?”

  “Since the direwolf went inside the cottage,” Edar replied airily. “I suppose that Rickon must be there, with Osha.”

  Glancing back at the cabin, Sandor saw that Osha, Rickon and Shaggydog were all huddled close together inside the farthest corner of the house, waiting for some signal from him. When he nodded, Osha muttered what Sandor supposed was a buggering prayer to her tree gods, before the wildling woman bent over to whisper something in young Rickon’s ear.

  “Osha, I know you can hear me,” Hagen said loudly, bouncing on the heel of his boots. “It’s Hagen! Why won’t you come outside and greet me, my friend? Are you all right?”

  “I’m well enough, smiley archer,” Osha replied, appearing at the doorway. Sandor saw the dagger she had hidden behind her back in the folds of her old woolen shift. “How are you?”

  “I am well enough as well,” Sansa’s sworn arrow replied, beaming at the wildling. “In fact, I more than well now that I am reunited with you all! I have much to tell you about my first taste of life in the North! It was rather boring at times because dear Davos here isn’t the liveliest of companions, but White Harbour is a city that I think-”

  “What you think will have to wait I am afraid,” Davos interrupted quickly. “Our business here has yet to begin, Hagen, and it is not wise to lose more time.”

  When the Manderly sisters began to dismount, the old knight quickly tried to do the same so he could help one of them, while the mute iron born went to offer the other sister his hand for support.

  “You have met my husband already. I gather that now you want to see my brother,” Sansa told the Manderly party, looking at each stranger in turn to register their reactions. Taking a deep sigh, Sansa called, “Osha, could you tell Rickon to please come outside.”

  “Go on, little lord,” Sandor heard the wildling mutter, before she gave the boy a light push forward.

  Rickon stepped outside the small house with a frown, looking defiantly at the strangers as he walked over to Sandor. The Manderly party gasped as they caught sight of Shaggydog following at his masters heels, all of them taking a step back in fear.

  “I _told_ you already,” Hagen said, rolling his eyes at them. “Don’t fear the direwolf _so_ much.  If he wanted to rip your throats off, he would have done so the moment he came upon us back at the hill.”

  “The beast looks bigger when one is not riding a horse,” Ser Manderly explained, pushing one of the sisters behind him, warily.

  Seaworth coughed, trying to explain further Edar’s lack of caution, “Shaggydog has been trained to behave almost as thoroughly as Clegane’s warhorse has. He attacks those he knows mean to cause his master harm.”

  Sandor snorted and looked down at Rickon with a slightly amused frown as the boy asked him in a low voice, “Sandor, are they bad people?”

  “No, they won’t hurt you,” Sandor promised his liege lord, stopping himself just in time as he began to raise his hand to ruffle the boy’s hair.

  Rickon nodded uncertainly and walked over to stand beside Sansa, grabbing her hand. The little bird smiled at Sandor before turning to wink down at her brother and gaze back at the others. Shaggydog went to prowl around the edges of the clearing, making the horses neigh nervously whenever he got too close to them.

 “Wex?” one of the Manderly woman said, turning to look at the mute boy once a long silent moment had passed in which everyone in the clearing looked at the others in turn. Sandor could not fail to notice the way the Manderly party gazed at Rickon, wondering if this truly was Eddard Stark’s son.

  “Could you please step forward please and tell us what you think?” the woman continued.

  The Ironborn mute did as he was told, all the while looking intently at Rickon, Shaggydog and Osha for a heartbeat before he began to nod enthusiastically. The sister who had called to him seemed satisfied with that and nodded, looking over at the little bird and her brother with a wide happy smile appearing on her face. The suspicion in the old knight’s face slowly faded away as well. There was not a sound in the grove of trees for a couple of heartbeats after that. But then, suddenly, the youngest of the Manderly woman stepped forward, walking towards Rickon and Sansa with a warm smiled. Sandor was surprised to see that there were tears in her eyes.

  “By the Old and New Gods,” the young woman said in a high hoarse voice, as she went on one knee before the bird and her brother. “It _really_ is you!”

  Sansa and Rickon were looking down at the Manderly woman with the same surprised expression on their faces. The woman went on crying as she bowed down her head in respect before saying, “I am Wylla Manderly, an envoy from my house and an ally, speaking with my grandfather’s voice, Lord Wyman Manderly, when I say to you both that House Manderly pledges its allegiance to you and your house, Lord and Lady Stark.”

  “My allies?” young Rickon repeated, turning towards her sister for confirmation.

  The little bird nodded, and Sandor closed his eyes, knowing what that gesture meant. This was the point of no return. _The world knows about us_. The life they had known where they answered to no one but themselves had definately come to an end now. There was no going back. Their involvement in the bloody game of thrones had begun, with what outcome, only time would tell.

  When Sandor opened his eyes again, he saw that both Manderly sisters, as well as the old knight and even the mute boy had gone on one knee before Rickon, swearing their lives and fealty to him. 

 

***

 

  Sansa’s tummy was all aflutter. She stared at the Manderlys and Theon’s former squire before her with what she hoped looked like a composed expression, but inside her heart was beating madly in her chest, and her mind was starting to hurt. She could barely believe this was truly happening at last. Sansa _was_ glad to see that Hagen and Lord Davos were safe and sound, and had finally found them, but Sansa knew she could not show her true emotions or her relief.

  If there was something Sansa had learned from her time in King’s Landing and from her experience with Arman Nervere, it was how to live through a dangerous time as she hid how she truly felt. _Maybe I did not fool everybody, but at least I survived Joffrey where others failed_.

  _I hope we can really trust them_ , Sansa thought, staring at the newcomers as they entered the deserted crofter’s cottage, silently praying to the gods that these people were true and good. She was standing on one side of the old table that was the only furniture the cabin possessed, with her head held high and her shoulders thrown back, glad that the Manderlys seemed to have accepted the truth; that Rickon and she were truly Starks despite their disheveled appearances.

  Her little brother was standing beside her, regarding everything that was happening in silence, not yet quite daring to trust these people that called themselves their allies. When Wylla Manderly had pledged herself and her house to Rickon and his sister, Sansa had been moved, but words were wind. It was not only her little brother who would need more than that before she came to trusting them.

  _It is not just Rickon and I; Osha and Sandor also do not like entrusting themselves to strangers, but there is little we can do about_ _it_. She had known this would happen, but actually _living_ it in this moment was bringing all of Sansa’s worries and hesitations to the surface.

  Osha was clutching her spear as she stood behind Rickon, and Shaggydog was sitting on his hind legs at a corner of the cottage, with his ears pricked as he gazed at them all. The Manderly party kept shooting furtive glances at the wolf, but Shaggy didn’t seem to mind. When Ser Marlon stepped inside the small house and went to stand behind the Manderly sisters, Sansa looked quickly at Sandor. Her big man was standing to her right, on the place that was expected to be claimed by her lord and husband, glaring his at their new allies in silence. The Manderlys had been looking at her and Sandor with uncertainty, and Sansa knew that the manner in which they were trying to convey to her that they could not believe she had married Sandor Clegane. _Or at least not willingly_. That made Sansa sad.

  She turned around to look up at her husband. _He looks just as intimidating as he did back in King’s Landing as he guarded Joff_ , Sansa thought, amazed at the deep contrast between the man from that time to the man she had come to love, determined to make it clear to the world, starting with this party before her, that she was not going to tolerate people addressing or treating Sandor as anything but her husband. _At least not in my sight or my hearing_.

  Wex, the ironborn mute boy with the feral face, dark hair, pointed chin, whom Sansa gathered was just a couple of years older than her, was still outside in the clearing taking care of the horses, when Davos and Hagen stepped inside the cabin. Sansa exchanged a glance with both men before taking a deep breath and saying, “I trust that Lord Seaworth and Hagen Edar have informed you of what has happened to me and my brother during the months the world believed us to be dead?”

  Her throat felt tight and dry as she spoke. She was not sure if she should address the sisters or the elderly knight, but it was the oldest sister, Wynafryd, that answered her.

  “Yes, Lady Sansa, they have,” she said.

  Wynafryd Manderly, daughter to Ser Wyman Manderly’s eldest and only living son, was a maid of nine and ten, with long brown hair bound in braids and a composed and serene air to her movements. She and her sister were wearing simple yet warm woolen hunting clothes.

  “We were sorry to have heard all the doom and sorrow that has befallen you and Lord Rickon,” Wynafryd continued.

  _It was not all doom and sorrow_ , Sansa thought, trying to hide a smile as she brushed her hand casually with Sandor’s, her fingertips lingering there for a moment before she said, “We thank you for that.”

  “Your family did not deserve what happened to them either, my lady,” Wylla Manderly said in a thin high voice. “Grandfather and Robett Glover have been doing everything they can to make sure the Starks are avenged. And now that we have found you and Lord Rickon, it is only a matter of time once we receive news of what has happened in Winterfell before we join Stannis’ cause and defeat our enemies.”

  Wylla had dyed her longhair a garnish green, though she left her eyebrows a pale blonde. It was strange to think that Wylla was older than her and yet Sansa was already married, and had lived through so much that at times she felt like she was a hundred years old worth of experiences, both good and bad, so unlike the young woman before her.

  With a shake of her head so she could gather her thoughts, Sansa opened her mouth to inquire about the latest news they had received concerning Winterfell, when Rickon said suddenly, “The Freys killed mother and Robb, Sansa told me. They all have to pay. Even Little and Big Walder. They’re bad.”

  Everyone in the room turned their attention to Rickon at those words.  Something about the way he had said that chilled Sansa to the bone.  She stared at Rickon in complete surprise, but everyone seemed pleased enough by what her brother had said, without feeling unease. Even the Manderlys were looking at Rickon with something Sansa could only gather was pride.

  She looked at Sandor, and was relieved to see that at least he didn’t seem as pleased as the others with the eagerness Rickon had displayed as he spoke of revenge. She could tell by the way his lip curled upwards as he grimaced. 

  “They will, my lord,” Ser Marlon said solemnly. “In time they will suffer for this. Every one of them. Already we have received reports of Freys being hanged by outlaws down in the Riverlands.”

  Marlon Manderly was taller than Lord Davos, and three stones heavier, with slate-grey eyes and a beard as grey as the winter sea. He was clad in silver armour, with his greaves and gauntlets inlaid with niello, resembling flowing fronds of seaweed. His cloak made of blue-green wool. 

  “And not only them,” the knight went on. “But the Ironborn and the Lannisters and Roose Bolton, along with that mad cruel monster he fathered. There has never been any love lost between White Harbour and the Dreadfort, but now that Roose’s bastard runs free, and is married to your sister the Lady Arya, he has only gained himself more enemies; enemies that will not forget every single one of his crimes when the time comes to punish him.”

  “My brother Jon is a bastard,” Rickon pointed out. “He is good. He can help us.”

  “Do you have news of Jon Snow?” Sandor asked. “He was made Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, was he not?”

  “He was,” Davos answered, taking a step forward. “He has also been criticized for aiding King Stannis, and for some of his decisions as Lord Commander, but we will talk of Jon Snow in a moment. First there are many other matters we must discuss. Much has changed since I was last here in Westeros.”

  Sansa could not have agreed more. She felt ready for any tidings she was about to hear, knowing that they could not be worse than the ones Lord Davos had told her back in Braavos concerning her mother and Robb, but Sansa did not expect the sudden words that came out of Wylla Manderly’s mouth.

  “We met you when you were little, my lady,” Wylla said with a smile. “When you came to visit White Harbour with your brother and sister.”

  “Oh of course,” Sansa replied, embarrassed that she had no recollection of meeting the sisters. “I must have seen you at the Merman’s Court, but I- we did not talk much did we? I would remember.”

  Wynafryd nodded, chuckling. “No, we could not talk because your sister Arya kept tugging at your hair even when you had stomped your feet and ordered her to leave you alone. You two got into a fight and were sent by your father the chambers we’d given you as punishment. I was about twelve years old if I remember correctly. Neither Wylla nor I saw much of you after the first introduction. That was one of the reasons why we had to bring Wex with us. We needed a reliable source to make certain you and Lord Rickon were truly Lord Eddard’s children. You were no longer going to be that little six year old girl, and if Grandfather was really going to risk thwarting Roose Bolton, we needed not only you and Lord Rickon, but the direwolf, for when the Dreadfort declares you both impostors, the wolf will prove to the north that you both are who we tell them you are.”

  “I understand,” Sansa assured them. _They were as hesitant to trust me as I was of trusting them_. Knowing that she was still a little bewildered by everything that had happened since she had woken up from her strange dream, Sansa decided that the best course of action for her at present was to remain silent and listen to everything the Manderlys had to say, asking pertinent questions from time to time, creating her own judgment until the time when she could think things through clearly and discuss everything with Sandor.

  “But we also knew,” Wylla explained, “That Stannis Baratheon- or well, King Stannis as I suppose we must start calling him now that Lord Davos has met Grandfather’s price- would never make common cause with an imposter. So when we met with Lord Davos and he assured us that he had truly found you and Lord Rickon, we knew that we could have hope that the Starks of Winterfell would once again rule the North. Your presence will change everything.”

  _“We are not aware if King Stannis has finally descended upon Winterfell,” Davos informed Sansa. “The last reports we received were that his grace was isolated and delayed by snow as he made his way through the Wolfswood.”_

_“And even if he had,” Ser Marlon pointed out, “We have no way of knowing if Stannis has already put everyone to the sword or given them to the fire._

_“We can only wait. But we have not sat idly, my lady,” Wynafryd continued. “_ White Harbour has luckily been spared the worst of winter and the war, and we have tried our best to keep as lively a household as we can manage.”

  “The smallfolk that lived near the White Knife are making their way to White Harbour daily,” Wylla said. “They come seeking shelter from what Ramsay Snow’s men are doing to the countryside. Grandfather told us to do for them as much we could, so Wylla and I visit the Old Flint daily- that’s where they are living now- and we give them as much food and clothes as we can spare, but it is not enough. Many beg or steal or worse, but all the young men are being accepted at the barracks at least, being trained to fight.”

  “You talk as if you two were the only ones doing something in the city,” Sandor remarked. “What is your father doing? Did he go to Winterfell with Lord Manderly?”

  “Oh no,” Wynafryd replied, meeting Sandor’s eyes for a moment before turning to look at Sansa. “Father and Mother and Maester Theomore thankfully went away about a week before Lord Davos and Hagen Edar arrived at the city.”

  “Why thankfully?” Osha enquired, speaking for the first time and drawing curious glances from the three Manderlys.

  “Because I doubt Mother would have approved of her daughters granting a Lorathi merchant with a private audience,” Wynafryd answered after a moment. “And had Maester Theomore learned the truth, or seen Lord Davos, your plan would have been doomed. Even with Mother, we would have risked too much. She fears the Lannisters even now after they returned Father to us.”

  Sansa nodded, recalling what Davos had told her and Sandor back in Braavos about Lady Leona. _He said Lord Wyman considers her a foolish frightened woman_. Sansa could not find it in her to blame her. _Were someone to take Sandor away from me and keep him hostage like they did with Wylis Manderly, I would be more than frightened_.

  “Our maester was born a Lannister, and Grandfather does not trust him,” Wylla explained. “When Father was returned to us, he was weak and sick. Mother suggested taking him to rest and recover his strength to our keep near the Sheepshead Hills. Maester Theomore went with them to look after Father.”

  Sandor wished to learn more about the current state of the port city, so the Manderly sisters informed them that women outnumbered the men by five to one in White Harbour, and what few men remained had long grey beards or looked too young to shave. There were septons as well, and holy sisters, for which Sansa was glad, since it meant that if someone was to question her marriage to Sandor, a quick wedding ceremony could be conducted easily enough.

  When Sandor asked how Edar and Davos had managed to meet with the Manderly ladies, Sansa’s worn arrow answered, “After _The_ _King of the Seas_ anchored, I played the part of the rich merchant I once was, while Davos pretended to be my servant. We booked some rooms at the winesink _The Lazy Eel_ since Davos said that most locals shunned the place, along with the city’s guardsmen and the customs officers. There were no more Freys in the city, and because our dear Davos has a common face, there was no great risk of him being recognized.

  The day after we arrived at the city I went to seek a private audience with Lady Wylla. Now, I’m sorry Lord Clegane, but after I heard how much she loved horses and riding, the idea struck me that the only decent passable excuse for me to be allowed to talk to her was if I pretended to be offer Stranger to her.”

  Sansa gasped and looked at Sandor quickly upon hearing those words, afraid for the way her big man would react at that. Sandor stared silently at Edar without blinking, with his burned features twisting in anger.

  The sight must have scared the sisters for Wylla Manderly quickly intervened, by saying to Sandor, “Yes, but I did not buy the warhorse. It is a beautiful destrier but of course it already has its owner. Ser Marlon told me that Stranger was so wild he would break my neck the first time I rode him, and only agreed to play along with the purchase when he had learned what Hagen Edar’s true intent was. But rest assured that your horse is waiting for you in White Harbour. As is that sweet mare of yours, Lady Sansa. Nan is the sweetest horse I have ever seen, and has taken to the castle’s stables very well. I trust you know she will give birth to a foal soon.”

  Sansa smiled at Wylla, in part because she was pleased to hear about Nan and Stranger, but mostly due to the way Wylla had talked to Sandor, with no trace of contempt in her voice as the Manderly girl looked at Sandor’s burned face without flinching in disgust or fright.

  Sandor narrowed his eyes at Hagen, and barked hoarsely, “All right then. Go on.”

  Edar sighed in relief, smiling as he thanked Wylla before continuing. “Well, it’s just as Lady Wylla said. At first I pretended that I was looking for a buyer for Stranger, but when we were finally left alone- well, not alone. Lady Wynafryd was always with us- but yes, when we were left alone I finally told the ladies who I really was and what my true business was with them. By then I had already made out as much of their characters as I was ever likely going to under the circumstances, and well, there came a point where I had to risk it and told them that Davos was back and wished to speak with them.”

  Wynafryd nodded. “We were very surprised at first, but thought it best to meet with Lord Seaworth that very night, knowing what he was going to tell us. That is when we learned about your whereabouts.”

  Her sister sniffed, looking at Rickon and Sansa with a warm smile on her face. “I wanted to come looking for you straight away, but Ser Marlon and Wyn told me we had to plan this out carefully.”

  “We brought Ser Marlon with us for protection,” Wylla’s older sister continued, “If Grandfather had entrusted him not only with White Harbour but with the truth about his secret plan with Lord Seaworth before he went to Winterfell, Wylla and I knew we could do the same.”

  “But Ser Marlon also came because he threatened us with sending a raven to Father about what we were really intending to do if we did not let him come with us,” Wylla reminded her sister.

  “I need to keep an eye on you both, girls,” Ser Marlon said with a scowl, looking at the siblings through arrowed eyes. “I would not have forgiven myself had Seaworth and Edar turned out to be liars, and any harm came to you.”

  Sansa looked at her hands in that moment, trying to hide her smile as she wondered exactly just how much help the elderly stout knight could be if required of him.

  “And now that you have seen that they were not lying,” Sansa said at last carefully, looking at each of the Manderlys in turn, weighing them even as she felt her heart beat a little faster inside her chest, “What do you intend to _do_?”

  “Our duty of course,” Wylla said at once, without hesitation. “Stannis offers us vengeance for our murdered king, so we will join him. The Lannisters and the Freys and the Boltons will pay. They have been spreading vile scum, saying the Red Wedding was King Robb’s fault. They said he changed into a beast before them, along with his bannermen, and started killing everyone, even my uncle Wendel. Well, they can all choke upon their fables until they die and good riddance! House Manderly has not forgotten.”

  Sansa could not help but shiver when she heard that. _The Freys were saying that Robb had the mark of the beast because he was a warg_. The dream she’d had this morning of being in Shaggydog’ skin came to Sansa’s mind vividly then, making her gulp.

  “Forgotten what?” Rickon asked enthusiastically beside Sansa, thankfully oblivious to her inner struggle as he brought everyone’s attention to himself.

  “The promise, my lord,” Wylla answered, smiling at Rickon. “The debt that White Harbour owes to the Starks of Winterfell, and which we will never truly be able to fully repay.”

  “What was the promise about?” Rickon wanted to know.

  “You see, my lord, a thousand years before the Conquest,” Wylla Manderly answered. “A promise was made, and oaths were sworn in the Wolf’s Den before the old gods and the new. When my forbears were sore beset and friendless, hounded from their homes and in peril of their lives, the wolves took them in and nourished them and protected them against their enemies. White Harbour is built upon the land your own ancestors gave mine. In return my family swore that they would always be Stark men.”

   “The Boltons and the Freys and the Lannisters killed Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn and our good brave King Robb,” Wynafryd continued. “But House Stark has not been extinguished, and if what Lord Seaworth speaks is true, then with the help of King Stannis we will at long last get justice for our losses. The mummer’s farce our grandfather has been playing is nearly done.”

  Sansa reached out to hold Sandor’s hand. Her big man squeezed her hand in reassurance. It was odd, but rather than feel scared or daunted in those moment, Sansa found herself more determined than she had felt in a long time. Her love for Sandor had been the only certain thing in her life so far, but now, as Sansa learned how matters truly stood before her and her husband and her brother as she was reminded of the promise- she _really_ felt for the first time certain and capable of carrying out the task that had been set upon her shoulders.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank you all for reading this story, and for all the encouragement and nice reviews I’ve received. Overwhelmed by your constant support my lovely friends and readers. Thank you, thank you!! x)


	45. Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> * Onborrowedwings, thank you for beta-ing the fic, my friend! I hope you know how much I appreciate it :D :D  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

  Sandor was sitting alone at the edge of the clearing upon a log, honing his longsword, sparing a glance at the people gathered outside the deserted crofter’s cabin from time to time. He needed to keep his blade sharp, aware that he may need to use it at any moment now.

  As he grabbed the whetstone from the ground, Sandor caught sight of Ser Marlon. The fucking knight had been watching him from some time now. Snorting in amusement, not one bit surprised, Sandor held the man’s gaze until the knight looked away. Sandor muttered, “Bloody gnat,” under his breath before returning his attention to the steel in his hand, brooding.

  The meeting from earlier this morning was all that Sandor could think about, but he knew, as did the little bird and even the wildling woman, that they had no other choice now but to trust themselves into the Manderly sisters’ care, even if they were not yet ready to believe every word that they had told them. _This is what we were expecting would happen after all_ , Sandor had to remind himself. _No use wishing things would have turned out differently_.

  Most of the tidings he had learned this morning had been news he and the Onion and Hagen had already assumed to have occurred, back on _The King of the Seas_ as they journeyed across the Narrow Sea. Now all that was left for him and his little bird and her brother to do was go to White Harbour and wait for the next raven from Lord Lamprey to see how matters stood.

  Sandor had never seen Wyman Manderly, but he had heard enough about the man through the years to have made a pretty accurate opinion of him; an opinion that would not change only because the lord’s granddaughters had praised him until he sounded like Baelor the Blessed. Seaworth had assured him that Manderly was not as weak or foolish as he had let the world believe, and they had really no other choice otherwise, Sandor would not have dared to bring Sansa back to her land just yet. _Manderly may be a fat man, but is seems he had not been an idle one_.

  The sound of crackling leaves nearby made Sandor raise his head, his musings on the war and what most likely awaited them all in White Harbour for the moment forgotten as he saw that it was Sansa who had made the noise that interrupted the stillness in this side of the clearing as she made his way towards him. Sandor could not help but grin up at her in return, for the smile that was now on his little bird’s face was one she reserved only for him.

  “Little bird,” he rasped when she was standing before him, playing with a piece of cloth in her hands.

  “I see you are taking care of Protector,” the bird chirped, as his eyes roamed all over her body, taking in her curves and the outline of her long legs behind her skirts.

  Sandor stared at Sansa at a loss, considering reaching out to caress one of his wife’s legs so temptingly close to him, before he asked, “Who’s Protector?”

  “Your sword,” Sansa reminded him, taking a seat beside him on the log. “Don’t you remember that I named it Protector back in Essos after telling you about how all great longswords had names?”

  “Ah yes,” Sandor growled, shaking his head in resignation, glancing down at his sword as his little wife moved closer to him, until their thighs and legs were touching. Sandor sheathed his sword in its scabbard, placing the latter on the ground in order to keep Sansa from accidentally cutting herself with the sharp blade. “And it’s well named. We will need its protection from now on.”

  Blushing at that for whatever bloody reason, the little bird stared for a moment at her hands before commenting softly, “Do you remember what I told you on the first morning in the caravan after we fled Great Norvos?”

  Sandor could not help but snort at that, and answered truthfully, “I sure as hell don’t, bird. I wonder how _you_ sodding can.”

  Sansa did not seem to mind that he could not remember, for she chuckled and met his gaze with her beautiful blue eyes, dimples appearing in her cheeks, before saying, “I came up with the name for your sword on that morning too, since you had just fought Arman in the duel.”

  “The High Sheep,” Sandor snarled, frowning. “What about him?”

  “In our first morning in the Hills of Norvos I told you to keep the handkerchief I had given you to wear as my favor during the ordeal by combat before promising to make you one with a hound and a bird embroidered upon it.”

  Vaguely remembering what Sansa was talking about, Sandor narrowed his eyes in suspicion, glaring at the piece of cloth in her hands. 

  “I have something that belongs to you,” the little bird said, offering him the handkerchief, confirming his suspicions. “I- I know you said you liked the previous one better because it was simple, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to make you a gift, and I finally finished the one with the bird and the hound yesterday while you were training with Rickon.”

  Sandor took the handkerchief and stared at the black dog and the little bird figures, before rasping a rough, curt, “Thanks.”

  He wanted to show his wife his thanks in another way, but was mindful of the several pairs of eyes fixed upon Sansa and him ever since she had come to join him.

  “What is it?” Sansa asked him, placing her hand on his knee as he went on staring at the handkerchief. “Don’t you like it?”

  Sandor jerked his head in the direction where the Manderly party was standing outside the cabin, as they talked to Edar and the Onion, the former borrowing some of the attention from them from time to time as he went on cleaning his nails with the same dagger he used to cut his meat and pick at his teeth with.

  “They’re watching us,” he explained, still unsure as to how Sansa expected him to behave with her now, whenever they were not alone.

  It had been easy back in the east, but now, with the little bird returning to be Lady Stark and the one the north was depending on after young Rickon, Sandor was mindful that he couldn’t just damn the world to hell and kiss Sansa in thanks before the Manderly party, fearing her reaction at his actions. Sandor was ready to let the whole world know that he was Sansa’s husband, but he did not wished to do something that would displease the little bird in the process.

  Yet once again, Sansa proved to him that it was fucking wrong of him to doubt her even in the slightest, for after sparing a glance at the knight and the sisters as they went on looking at them- the women with wide curious eyes and the old bugger with judgment in his fucking stare- the little bird said, “Let them watch to their heart’s content. I don’t care. We are doing no wrong. You are my husband now, big man, by both the old gods and the new, and I can come and seek your company whenever I wish. There is nothing they can do about it, my former dearest sworn shield.”

  And without another word Sansa leaned upwards and kissed him on his scarred cheek. A deep rumbling grunt of pleasure escaped from Sandor’s throat as he closed his eyes and grasped the hand Sansa still had on his leg, wishing with all his might he could _feel_ Sansa’s touch upon the burned flesh of his face.

  “I love you, little bird” he heard himself telling Sansa, once he had tucked away the handkerchief between his leather jerkin and his chainmail.

  “And I love you,” Sansa answered, bringing her knuckles up to his neck so that she could caress the stubble of his jaw. She had told him before that she liked the scratchy feeling that touching him there gave her. “That is the truth, Sandor. And the truth that we both know is all that should ever matter between us.”

  Sandor nodded, leaning his face into Sansa’s touch, growling, “So what do you make of everything that’s happened since this morning?”

  Sansa looked over at the Manderly party with a frown, before replying, “I think Wylla and Wynafryd are nice enough, but we should keep an eye on Ser Marlon. Hagen told me that he was the one who was more upset about us marrying after all.”

  “And he is just the first one,” Sandor pointed out. “And we didn’t get to see his initial reaction upon learning the news.”

  “Oh, I know it is not as easy as all that,” the bird chirped. “We can’t trust anyone so easily. And neither can Lady Wynafyd and Lady Wylla trust _us_ yet. But we all know we do not have much choice in the matter to some extent. I _am_ also frightened because the world will learn about us soon enough; about Rickon and I being alive, and about our marriage too. Why, even now the sailors from _The King of the_ _Seas_ could be spreading tales about Shaggydog as we speak at some inn, making the need of entering White Harbour under night’s cover all the more pressing, but- there is something that is troubling me even more right now, Sandor.”

  “Which is?” Sandor wanted to know.

  Something shifted in his bird’s features as she straightened her shoulders and returned her gaze to him, taking a deep breath before answering, “It may mean nothing, but I can’t forget the look on Rickon’s face when he spoke of how the Freys had to pay for what they did at the Red Wedding.”

  Sandor knew what she meant at once. He had recognized the hate behind Rickon’s words as he spoke of wanting all the Freys to get what they deserved quick enough, having lived with a similar hate himself for so long. The others had not seemed to notice it, and if they did, they probably had not thought it was important due to the boy’s young age, but Sandor was glad the little bird had reminded him of it.

  “I’m not surprised he said that,” Sandor admitted. “I would have done the same thing at his age under the circumstances. Which means it isn’t good for him.”

  “Oh,” Sansa’s almost gasped, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth, her eyes as wide as saucers as she understood. “Oh Sandor, I hadn’t even considered that. I- I do wish for the Lannisters and the Freys and the Boltons to pay. I always have, but to me it was more important to just get back home safely to my family. Revenge was not the foremost thought in my mind.”

  “I reckon your brother wanted that too, little bird,” Sandor replied. “But you are different. You have always been too good Sansa. Now that Rickon has been robbed of his family, he may with time start thinking that revenge is one of the few things left to him that really matters.”

_At least that’s how it happened with me_ , Sandor thought, the memories of his childhood rushing through his mind; memories he had not dwelt upon for weeks now. The remains of the hatred and loathing he had felt for Gregor was stirring deep inside him as his bird suddenly reached out for his hand, rubbing his wrist with her thumb, saying in a voice barely louder than a whisper, “I can’t let him grow up feeling like that. The north- he- should remember, but- but-”

  “Would you mind if I talked to him about it?” Sandor heard himself ask his little wife awkwardly, realizing that she was having trouble with putting into words what she was concerned about. It was not something he fancied doing, but Sandor _did_ care for Rickon’s well being.

  Blinking in surprise, Sansa smiled warmly at him, saying, “You do not know how much that would mean to me. Of course I wouldn’t mind, big man. Quite the contrary. And after you’re done you can tell me what you said to him so that when it is my turn to talk to him I can try and make him understand anything he hadn’t already accepted.”

  Sandor nodded in agreement before Sansa added as an afterthought, “And we should also ask Osha to help us, I think. I feel she understand Rickon in a way we never will. I don’t know what has happened to them ever since they last saw Bran, but you saw the way she succeeded in making Rickon talk again after I told him about Mother and Robb.”

  “I’ll go take a piss,” Sandor informed his little bird after some of his conclusions regarding Skagos and the part tit could still play in Rickon’s future crossed his mind. “Tell the lad to wait for me here.”

  “Sandor,” Sansa said suddenly, with hesitation. “Won’t- would you not join me as while I talk to the Manderlys?”

  Sandor met his wife’s eyes, knowing what she meant.

  “I will after I’ve talked to Rickon,” he promised, nodding.

  “Thank you,” Sansa said, looking at him with eyes full of love, her mouth slightly open.

  “It’s nothing,” he rasped, shrugging even as he leaned over so that he could brush his half scarred lips with Sansa’s soft plump ones, gathering that if she had the balls to kiss him before the others, he could damn well do the same.

  By the time he had returned from pissing Rickon was already waiting for him, seated on the same spot his sister had taken on the log, with Shaggydog noisily eating a rabbit some steps away. The sound of crunching bones and of the direwolf’s growls as he struggled to break through the skin stopped when the black beast caught sight of Sandor. Shaggydog and Rickon raised their heads as if they were one to look at him, the former quickly dismissing him from his mind as Shaggy returned to his prey, and the latter exclaiming excitedly, “Sandor, guess what Sansa has just told me!”

  Sandor opened his mouth to try and hazard a guess at what the little bird must have told her brother, but never had the chance to say anything, for Rickon only waited for his answer for a heartbeat, before saying, “Sansa said that we are finally leaving this place tomorrow morning.”

  “I knew that already,” Sandor replied, walking over to sit on the log again. “Have you ever been to White Harbour, boy?”

  “No,” Rickon replied, shaking his head. “Before Osha and Shaggy and me went to Skagos I saw it though. Osha didn’t want to go into the city. But we saw it from far away. I think Braavos was bigger. Have you seen it?”

  “I haven’t,” Sandor admitted stiffly, wondering how in seven hells he should go about questioning Rickon about what was really on his mind. _Who would have thought a year ago I would be doing this?_ Sandor wondered, amazed at how difficult thinking how to ask the right questions was proving out to be. “But I don’t think it will be as big as Braavos either.”

  “Will we still have our lessons while we are there, won’t we?” Rickon wondered.

  “We will,” Sandor rasped down at him, smirking. “We have to keep at it every day if we want you to become the best warrior in the north.”

  “Are you the best warrior from the south? I bet you are!”

  Sandor snorted, gathering that if Rickon wanted to look up to him, then it would be better for the boy to do so because of the man Sandor was now. _Not because of the reputation I had as the Hound_.

  “I am,” he sighed, thinking of a much more practical matter now. _With Gregor dead and Jaime Lannister short his right hand; there aren’t any other men out there that could beat me in a fight_. The only good thing of the world agreeing with Rickon was that there would be less buggers seeking to hurt Sansa, in fear of angering him.

  “We will win back Winterfell easily with your help then,” Rickon pointed out. “I can’t fight yet because I am little, but you can fight for me, can’t you? Shaggy will help you.”

  “I’ll fight for you and your sister,” Sandor told his future liege lord. “But Rickon, there is more to life than fighting.”

  “There isn’t,” Rickon told him after he took a moment to think upon his words, frowning. “I want to go home. We have to fight the bad men for mother and father and Robb and then we can get Winterfell back.”

  _I need wine_ , Sandor thought, as he snarled at the six year old roughly, “It isn’t my place to question princes, but is that how you want to spend the rest of your life, boy? Fighting for ghosts? Once you have your home back and are taught how to play the lord, what do you mean to do? Hunt down everyone who is a Frey or a lion or a Bolton?”

  Sandor had no bloody problem with Rickon wanting to fight to get his home back, but if he had come to learn something of value in the months he had spent with Sansa, it had been that the reasons for why you were fighting really _did_ matter.

  Rickon was looking up at him with narrowed eyes, uncomprehending. Sandor sighed again, cursing inwardly before he explained, “When you are old enough for it, you are going to fight no matter if we win or lose this war, Rickon. But you have to do it for the right reasons. I know you can’t fucking get what I am trying to tell you because you’re too young, but you will be a man grown soon enough. When the time comes, you have to fight for something that is worth it.”

  “I will fight for my family,” Rickon told him again, without hesitation, frowning as he tried to understand what Sandor was telling him.

  “Aye, but you also want to fight so that those who have hurt your family can be destroyed,” Sandor pointed out. “And that will only end up messing with your head, Rickon.”

  “How do you know that?” the boy spat, pouting.

  Sandor snorted, since Rickon looked just like Sansa when he did that. _Bloody hells!_

  “Because that’s what happened to me,” Sandor rasped down at young Rickon. “Before I met your sister all I lived for was the chance to get to kill the man who had hurt me and killed my family.”

  Rickon’s ears pricked up at that, as he leaned closer to Sandor and asked sharply, “Did he hurt your face?”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Sandor growled impatiently, scowling, not ready to tell the boy about how Gregor, his own brother, had shoved his face into the burning coals, knowing that would only mess up Rickon more than it would help him. “I’ll tell you about how I got burned one day if you’re so eager to learn about it. But I was talking about my family.”

  “I’m sorry,” the little bird’s brother replied, caressing Shaggy’s muzzle as the wolf went to stand beside them.

  Sandor shrugged. “I can tell you though that this man was just as bad as those who hurt _your_ family, and ever since I was your age I dreamed of the moment when I would get a chance to stick my sword through his belly.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “No. A snake did while I was in the east with Sansa.”

  “A snake?” Rickon asked, surprised.

  “A red viper from Dorne,” Sandor further explained, his mouth twitching. “They killed each other. But that’s not what matters. Do you know what I did when I learned that someone else had robbed me of my vengeance?”

  Rickon shook his head, his mouth open in a small O, his eyes fixed on Sandor’s face.

  “Nothing,” Sandor replied, amused at how quickly Rickon turned crestfallen, and amazed at how easily it was to talk about this without rancor in his voice. “Sansa had already shown me by then that getting revenge was not important when compared to other things. Your pretty sister changed everything and gave me hope. The world was rid of that monster, and even if it was not by my hand, I had won because I was still alive and had Sansa. And so long as she was with me, and I could go on keeping her safe, and the world could go bugger itself with a hot poker, and that’s just what this man did.”

  “So I shouldn’t be sad if the Freys and the other bad people don’t die because I have Sansa?” Rickon wondered, scratching the top of his head.

  “Yes,” Sandor said, nodding. “Rickon, I don’t want you to repeat the same mistakes I made, or the ones I saw others do. Be respected, not feared. Don’t spend all of your time brooding about different ways to hunt down your enemies, no matter the shit that has happened to you in the past.”

  “But why could you get angry and I can’t?” Rickon said in a demanding, lordly voice.

  “I was angry because I had to be like that if I wanted to survive,” Sandor confessed, sighing tiredly. “I was on my own already at your age, but you are not. You have Sansa and Osha and me and Edar and Shaggy, and the whole North will be looking out for you. We will all protect you.”

  “You promise?” Rickon asked in a low voice.

  “Aye, I promise. And now you promise me to think about what I’ve said, even if you don’t yet really understand it much.”

  “I will be a good lord like Father,” Rickon promised him.

  Sandor reached out to ruffle young Rickon’s hair, hoping that some of his words made sense. _If I can keep him from turning out like me or Joffrey, then I will rest easily_.

  “My lords!” a man’s voice suddenly exclaimed, drawing Sandor, Rickon and Shaggydog’s attention.

  Edar was striding over to them, waving cheerfully, the Onion at his heels.

  “What are you two doing hiding out here?” Hagen asked, once he and Davos were standing in front of Rickon and Sandor. “Our new friends are rather keen on getting to know you Rickon.”

  “I like them,” Rickon confessed. “I wasn’t so sure about the boy who can’t talk, but Shaggy doesn’t mind him, so I don’t either. I will go talk to them.”

  “Remember to think on what I told you, boy,” Sandor snarled at Rickon.

  Sansa’s brother nodded and went off to running towards the cabin’s entrance, where   the little bird and Osha were talking to the Manderly sisters with Ser Marlon standing guard behind the latter, and the mute boy running to tuck away a bronze cup in one of the saddlebags.

  “I was also talking to you, Lord Clegane,” Edar told him in a mocking tone. “You are not being a very good lord to your people right now, hiding over here rather than being beside Sansa, trying to win over the Manderlys. Sitting out here looking mean and ugly won’t help you one bit, my friend.”

  “Fuck that,” Sandor rasped, wincing at the reminder of his lordship. It had been a low enough price to pay for the reward of making the little bird his own, but that did not make him like it any better. The Cleganes were landed gentry. His grandfather, who had been neither a lord nor thankfully a knight, had kept a modest keep all his life- even after receiving Tytos Lannister’s gratitude for that indecent with the lioness.

  “Hagen is right,” Davos was saying now, as he looked down at Sandor.

  “I know that” he snarled, standing up. “But I’ll have plenty of time to know them after today. It’s a bloody wonder how you two have managed to ride all the way from White Harbour with that lot for company.”

  “We could have done worse,” Seaworth said, stroking his chin. “The ladies won’t mean you any harm so long as they can see with their own eyes that what I and Hagen have told them about you and Sansa are true.”

  “Then the number of northeners who will wish to cut my throat for marrying Sansa has just grown two persons shorter,”  Sandor mocked with a snort, remembering the issue he had been meaning to talk with Hagen about.

  Looking at the Lorathi, Sandor growled roughly, “What in seven hells were you thinking when you decided to pretend you wanted to sell my horse, gnat?”

  Sandor could not wait for the moment when he was reunited with his warhorse again. _If anything had happened to Stranger because of thi_ s _fucking madman’s plan_ …

  “Well, what else would you have had me and Davos do?” Edar ask in defense. “I was supposed to be a merchant, but the only valuable good I had with me at that moment- the only thing that would be worthy enough to attract Wylla and Wynafryd’s attention, was your horse. Stranger as a destrier was of more use to them than any yards of silk or satin I could have boasted of and a better purchase than poor Nan would have been.”

  Sandor could see the wisdom behind those actions, but that did not matter one bloody bit to him in this moment.

  “Aye, a better purchase,” Sandor mocked. “My horse doesn’t kick more than most and doesn’t shit in the halls… I tell you, if anything’s happened to my horse by the time we arrive at White Harbour, one of you is going to pay.”

  “Don’t worry, Clegane,” Seaworth assured him. “Stranger and Nan are being looked after by the Manderly household. Though I must admit I would have liked to know what your wife’s sworn arrow would have done if Lady Wylla had really been inclined to buy Stranger even after being told who that black beast’s master was.”

  “I think it’s time me and Davos heard what you and Sansa and Rickon and Osha have been doing in these woods while we were away,” Edar interrupted, ignoring Seaworth’s words.

  Sandor shrugged, rasping, “We told Rickon about the Red Wedding.”

  “Aye, we figured out as much,” the Onion said. “After the meeting this morning it was clear the boy knew. Who told him?”

  “Sansa,” Sandor answered, buckling on his scabbard after he’d picked it from the log.

  “We can imagine how he took it,” Edar commented in a sudden serious tone. “Poor lad. So young to have suffered so much.”

  _So was the little bird_ , Sandor thought, before rasping, “We also got married two days ago before this godswood that Rickon found.”

  “Ah yes, I told Davos you might have,” Hagen told him. “We passed many of those heart trees on our way here. I must say, those trees look nothing like what Osha described. I think I like these woods. They would have been the perfect place for me to hide in back in the days when I was an outlaw.”

  “You should have been one of the members of the Kingswood Brotherhood,” the Onion commented, chuckling.

  Sandor’s mind drifted away just as the talk turned to the Brotherhood. He was remembering his second wedding to the little bird. He had preferred that one to the one they’d had back in Braavos since it had been simple and short and they had been practically alone, but it made Sandor frown to remember how he had felt at first when he knelt before those white and red trees, feeling bloody uncomfortable when, for a moment, it seemed as if the faces carved into their trunks were somehow weighing him, seeing right through him with those red eyes of theirs.

  “You have the paper signed by us and the septon from your wedding by the Seven,” Seaworth was telling Sandor now, returning his attention to the present. “So I don’t think you will be pestered into marrying again in the Sept of Snow. But you may have to marry again before a godswood. There is no one but a child and a wildling woman to back you up in that wedding.”

  “We know that,” Sandor answered with a scowl. “And it’s not a problem.”

  “No,” Seaworth said, with the shadow of a smile appearing on his face. “I don’t suppose it is.”

  Sandor cleared his throat before asking in a serious, harsh tone, “So you really trust them then?”

  Edar and Seaworth both looked at him at that, and nodded at the same time.

    Their party left the cabin in the woods the next morning, striking for White Harbour at as fast a pace as they could manage when they were ten people and had only six horses with them.

 

***

 

  Sansa squirmed in the saddle and felt the links of Sandor’s mail digging into her back.    She was cold and sore and haggard by then, but in her heart there was so much strong northern hope that none of that mattered. They were at the very edge of the eastern shore where the White Knife plunged into the firth. Sansa could hear the roaring sea nearby. The air had a sharp, salty smell to it her.

  _There is something a little fishy about it_ , Sansa thought, taking a deep breath. _It smells like I would think a mermaid smells_. She smiled at that thought.

  Straightening her shoulders, Sansa placed her hands around her big man’s arms, which were encircling her, as Wylla Manderly stopped her horse beside the one Sansa and Sandor had been riding, saying, “We are here, my lady. Those are the walls of the Wolf’s Den.”

  She nodded at her, smiling a little. Sansa liked Wylla and Wynafryd, and thought that they were brave. _And I believe they truly have spoken from the heart since we first met them_. If they had been lying, Sandor would have seen right through them all. _And Shaggydog too I bet_. _We would not have come this far had they not thought White Harbour was a safe place_.

  Wylla’s voice filled the twilight grove that was at the end of the wood’s outskirts. Between the trees where their party was standing right now and the massive thick walls of whitewashed stone that loomed high before them there were no more than thirty paces.

  “We should dismount,” Ser Marlon Manderly suggested, getting off his horse and handing the reins over to Wex. “Boy, go forTherry so he can take the horses back to the stables and then have the saddles back to the New Castle. We must part with our mounts now.”

  The ironborn mute boy nodded, quickly looking to his right and then to his left before running fast towards the corner where the stone walls turned to the east. Night was falling fast. The evening sky had been turning to the faded grey of an old cloak that has been washed too many times when Wynafryd and Wylla had informed them all that they would be reaching White Harbour in less than an hour. By now the first shy stars were coming out, and the shafts of sunlight had long vanished when the last thin slice of the sun was swallowed beneath the eastern woods.

  Sandor got off his horse as Osha did the same and lifted Rickon off the saddle. Sansa saw that Hagen Edar and Lord Seaworth had finally caught up with them as well as Sandor placed his hands around her waist, lifting her to the ground. Sansa gave her husband a smile and grabbed on to his shoulders for support, saying, “Thank you.”

  Her big man gave a curt nod in reply, muttering, “Stay close,” and grabbed the horse’s reins, loosening his longsword in its scabbard in the process. Sansa looked at her feet, praying silently to the old gods and the new that nothing went amiss once they entered White Harbour’s prison.

  Since it wouldn’t yet do for anyone to see her or Rickon or Sandor or Lord Davos until they were safely hidden behind the New Castle’s walls, the Manderlys had informed them that the only way to smuggle them into the city was through the secret way that connected the Wolf Den to the castle. It was the same underground passageway that Robett Glover had used when he took The Onion Knight to see Lord Wyman, and the same underground passageway that the Manderly sisters and Davos and Hagen had used to get out of the city days ago, when they had first left the city to go searching for Sansa, Sandor, Osha and Rickon.

  _And Shaggydog_ , Sansa reminded herself as the great dark wolf appeared before her, shaking his black coat. Her brother’s wolf was another one of the reasons why they had to enter White Harbour shrouded by night’s shadows. If anyone saw the direwolf then word would spread as fast as raven’s wings to their enemies of their homecoming. _They must not know that we are not defeated until we want them to, and not a moment before_. 

  “It’s a good thing we got here before it started to rain,” Edar was telling Lord Davos and Lady Wynafryd. “I bet that the sky will start to weep in an hour or so.”

  “You are making enough bloody noise to be seen in Oldtown,” Sandor snarled at Sansa’s sworn arrow in the same moment that Ser Marlon said, “Hush, Edar.”

  The elderly knight and Sandor stared at each other at that, the former looking awkward and displeased, and the latter looking like he couldn’t care less. Sansa sighed, hoping that this quiet enmity between the two would go away in the following days. So far Ser Marlon had been courteous to Sansa and Rickon, and even Osha to a point once the Manderlys saw how much Rickon liked the wildling woman, but when it came to Sandor, the knight would avoid addressing him unless it was absolutely necessary.

  _He resents Sandor_ , Sansa thought, as they all made their way to the side door that had been built in the middle of the southern wall of the Wolf’s Den. She was aware that the members of the senior branches of the houses in the north would feel the same about the man she had married, but since Sandor and she had known this all along since they had realized that they could not set their love aside, Sansa and her big man had been able to cope with the Manderly knight’s behaviour well enough.

  Sandor had even surprised Sansa as he had choked back down his mocking remarks more than once in the past days as they made their way through the last stage of their journey through the wild. _And a_ _t least Ser Marlon hasn’t been troublesome so far_. And when it came to Lady Wynafryd and Lady Wylla, Sansa was immensely graceful to them.

  The sisters had at first averted their eyes away from Sandor’s face, but as they all got to know each other a little better, the sisters had started to show the first signs of respect towards Sandor that Sansa had always known the northerners would feel once they saw that her big man was truly good and meant them no harm at all. Even this morning Wylla had called Sandor, “Lord Clegane,” drawing an approving laugh and chuckle from Hagen Edar and the Onion Knight, and surprised looks from her and Sandor.

  When they were all standing before the thick wooden postern door, Ser Marlon knocked loudly seven times. Sandor and Osha glanced over their shoulders from time to time. The wildling had her hand on Rickon’s shoulder, wary, and Sandor cast a long shadow where he stood behind Sansa, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Sansa took a step back, seeking the comfort that being close to her big man gave her, and smiled at Rickon as her brother looked up at her while he rubbed his tired eyes and yawned. Sandor placed a heavy hand on her shoulder then, and when Sansa turned around to look at her husband, Sandor squeezed her hand reassuringly, wishing to tell her something, but mindful of the people all around them.

  A few moments later that seemed to Sansa to last an eternity as her heart went on beating fast inside her chest and her tummy tied into knots, the door was finally opened. Hagen Edar ushered everyone inside, complaining of taking too long when a party of ten entered one by one through the doorway.

  They stepped into a small cold chamber that had two passages leading into deeper parts of the ancient fortress. There was a fire in the room but it was a small sad thing; ashes and embers and a few broken branches burning slow and smoky.

  “I need hot food in my belly soon or I’m afraid I will-” Hagen began to say, before smiling as the man who had let them inside the Wolf’s Den locked the door and turned to face them. “Ah, Ser Bartimus! Glad to see you again. We are back as promised.”

  “Bartimus,” Ser Marlon said, nodding at the man.

  “Did you miss us, ser?” Wynafryd asked, smiling.

  Sansa stared at the man everyone was addressing as Ser Bartimus. The man before her was a cadaverous one-legged knight, with a scarred face and a blind eye, who was propping himself up with two tall wooden sticks.

  It wasn’t until the man acknowledged Davos with a nod and said, “Lord Wyman will be pleased with you, my lord,” while looking at Shaggydog and Sansa and Rickon and even Sandor in turn, that Sansa remembered this must be the Wolf’s Den’s chief gaoler who she had heard of before. “You were a dead man while you stayed here under my care, and now you return to us with those the world believes to be dead as well. My lord, my lady, it’s an honour. I would kneel but as you can see, it’s quite hard for me.”

  “It’s all right,” Sansa answered Ser Bartimus with a smile. “We thank you ser for keeping our secret.”

  “We should hurry,” Wylla pointed out, as Ser Marlon and Lord Davos and Hagen Edar went to fetch torches from the sconces in the walls. “We are not even inside the city walls here, and we have yet to reach the castle, and the climb to the hill is long, whether we are underground or not.”

  “Instruct Wex to go back to the castle once he returns,” Ser Marlon instructed Ser Bartimus. “He went to fetch Garth so they could take the horses to the stables.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “And send young Therry to help him with the saddles. They have to be up at the castle as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, Ser Marlon.”

  “There hasn’t been any trouble?” Wynafryd asked the chief gaoler.

  “None that I’ve heard of, my lady. Me and Garth were expecting you all since the day before yesterday, but nothing has reached us here in the Wolf’s Den of consequence. Don’t know though if you and Lady Wylla’s absence has been noted by the town’s folk.”

  The eldest Manderly granddaughter nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Ser Bartimus. Lord Wyman will hear of the good service you have provided us.”

  “And my brother will be reminded of your aid to our cause as well once the time to reward our allies comes,” Sansa said, speaking for Rickon, who was drifting off into a light slumber as he stood beside Osha, leaning on her leg for support.

  Ser Bartimus nodded before Ser Marlon led the way along the passageway to the right. Within the passage all lay quiet as the dead. Wynafryd and Wylla followed, with Sansa, Sandor, Rickon, Shaggydog, Osha, Hagen and Davos bringing up the rear. They walked in silence through darkened halls that echoed with their footsteps, the sound reminding Sansa of old Hrolf’s castle in the Bay of Lorath.

  “Who else is in this place?” Sansa muttered to Sandor as they started up a flight of worn steps. Her words echoed faintly through the darkness, and she saw that the light of the torches made the old burns that marked her big man’s face shine a dull red.

  “No prisoners,” Sandor rasped beside her. “The Onion told me that there are two turnkeys and that one-legged knight we just met, as well as a pair of washerwomen and a cook and six guardsmen. We have to avoid the barracks once we reach the ground floor. It won’t do for us to be seen just yet.”

  Sansa nodded in agreement, wishing she could reach out to hold her big man’s hands. But she gathered herself with a shake of the head as they all made their way outside to the courtyard of the Wolf’s Den. Sansa gasped when she stepped outside and felt the cold sea air on her face, staring with wide eyes at the castle’s godswood that grew beside the courtyard.

  There was a heart tree that had grown so huge and tangled that it choked out all the oaks and elms and birch, sending its thick, pale limbs crashing through the walls and windows that looked down on it. The heart tree’s roots were as thick as a man’s waist, its trunk so wide that the face carved into it looked fat and angry.

  Beyond the weirdwood was a rusted iron gate. When everyone had passed through it they went down some more steps until they reached a barrel-vaulted cellar, where the weeping walls were crusted white with salt, and seawater sloshed beneath their feet with every step. _We are in the steps beneath the steps_ , Sansa knew. The secret passage that runs beneath the fortress stair up to the New Castle

  Their party passed through several cellars, and rows of small, damp, foul-smelling cells that made Sansa cover her mouth and nose, and Rickon ask loudly, “What is that?”

  “Hush, little lordling,” Osha instructed Sansa’s brother as they reached a blank stone wall that turned when Ser Marlon pushed on it. Beyond was a long narrow tunnel and still more steps. These led up. Sansa tried to recall all the memories she could muster from her visit to White Harbor as they climbed, but it was no good. There weren’t many.

  Sansa’s cheeks were flushed by the time they finally reached the last step. They had been going uphill for what she gathered was almost half an hour and Sandor had noticed her tiredness and offered her his arm for support. Even Osha had stopped so she could carry a tired Rickon in her arms before Edar rushed in to help her carry Sansa’s brother.

  By the time Davos and Shaggydog reached them, the others had already emerged through another wall, but this one was lath and plaster on the far side. The room beyond was snug and warm and comfortably furnished, with a Myrish carpet on the floor and beeswax candles burning on a table. On the wall hung a sheepskin with a map of the north painted across it in faded colors.

  “We’re in the New Castle at last, my lady,” Wynafryd told Sansa with a tired smile.

  “This is the room where I was told by Lord Wyman to go fetch your brother from Skagos if he was to aid King Stannis,” Davos put in.

  “It is,” Wylla agreed proudly, looking at Rickon and the Onion Knight. “Uncle, will you not please call for the servants? Lady Sansa and her companions must surely be longing for the comforts of a hot meal, a fire, baths and a feather bed. Lord Rickon can barely keep his eyes open.”

  “That would be lovely. Thank you,” Sansa said.

  “We will put you all in the castle’s east wing. I am sure you will all want to be close to one another,” Wynafryd told them. “While the servants get your rooms ready we will have our food sent here at once.”

  Sansa was relieved to hear that, for as soon they ate something in this place, they would become guests under this roof by the ancient laws of hospitality, and they would get to see the dawn.

 

***

 

  Sandor opened the door to the bedroom, sighing in relief that nothing seemed to have gone wrong as he took a bath. They had all supped already on a hot meal of stewed goat and onions, washing it down with brown beer.

  The chamber was large, clean, well-ordered, airy and furnished. It had two four poster feather beds with furs to keep them warm by night, wood to feed the fire blazing in the hearth, as well as tallow candles, a water basin, rugs on the floor, a large wooden tub where he and the little bird had taken a warm bath, a chamber pot, and a round table with four cushioned chairs. Lord Lamprey certainly liked his comforts.

  Rickon was already fast asleep on the bed by the window, Sandor saw. And Shaggydog was resting at the foot of his master’s bed. The boy had refused to take a bath when Sansa tried to wake him up after they were done with their food, and she had decided it was best for her brother to wait for a bath until the morrow. Sandor and Sansa had decided that at least for the present it would be best if they all stuck together.

  Osha had been given the adjacent room to their left, and the Onion the one to their right. Hagen Edar was staying in the bedroom in front of Sandor and Sansa’s, but had told the little bird that he was not going to sleep much tonight, since he had to make a good impression as her sworn arrow and protector.

  As he opened the door to the bedroom, Sandor’s eyes were instantly caught by his little bird. Sansa was hugging herself as she stood before the tall picture window, a vision in white lambswool. The servants had already brought her new clothes and she was wearing a nightgown and a bed robe, her hair falling don her back in a cascade of auburn curls. She was humming some song, staring out the window into the night, going silent whenever lighting lit the sky.

  He cleared his throat, and his little wife turned to look at him at once as he stepped into the room, a wide warm smile on her face as she caught sight of him. Sandor could not help himself. He strode across the room in five long steps and stood behind Sansa so he could wrap his arms around her and bury his headin the crook of her neck.

  _She smells so sweet_ , he thought, his face in her hair, as the bird chirped, “It’s so funny.”

  “What is?” he growled, lifting his face so that he could leave a trail of kisses along Sansa’s neck. She gripped his arms hard with her hands at that, stifling a moan.

  “I was recalling that night in the Kingswood when we decided that White Harbour was our best option after escaping King’s Landing,” Sansa answered. “And when we ended up in Pentos of all places, we still wanted to come here as we did at the start, but there were no ships that would brave crossing the Narrow Sea.”

  “What’s the hell is so funny about that, love?” he asked, kissing the line of Sansa’s jaw gently. The top of her round breasts were visible from this position.

  Sansa giggled, sparing a quick look at Rickon to make sure he was still sleeping, before exclaiming, “Sandor, stop! You’re tickling me.”

  Sandor paid her no heed, so the little bird went on after lifting her arm so she could reach out and cup his cheek.

  “I just find it funny that we did end up here in the end, but not like we would have expected. I would never have imagined that we would end up forming a pack, big man.”

  That caught Sandor’s attention. He frowned down at the little bird as she turned around to regard him with an amused stare.

  “What pack?” he asked, confused.

  Sansa giggled again. “Well, us and Osha and Rickon and Hagen and Shaggydog, of course! No matter what awaits us, we are the ones that have to stick together. The Manderlys claim to be our allies, but they are not Starks. And even Davos is loyal to Stannis, not to us, no matter how much he’s come to appreciate us. I will miss the days when it was only you and me in the Free Cities, my dearest, but now we are a pack, and I am so thankful to the gods for that. Rickon and I may not have Father and Mother and Robb with us, but if we can only get Bran and Arya and Jon back, then I will be happy, no matter what.” 

  Sandor choked back his urge to snort at that. _A pack_. Well, a dog and a pair of wolves could certainly form a pack, but theirs had a wildling woman and a Lorathi mad sworn arrow to boot! _I suppose she is right_.

  Shaking his head in resignation at the little bird’s strange reasoning, Sandor grinned down at Sansa, grateful to her for letting her become a member of her pack, and for everything she had ever done for him.

  “Sansa,” he rasped, grabbing her wrists and pulling them around his neck before leaning down so he could claim her mouth and kiss her deeply. He wrapped his arms around her body once more, pressing her to him until they were both breathless.

  “Sandor, we can’t,” Sansa whispered when they drew apart briefly.

  “I know,” he growled, biting her bottom lip. “I know, little bird.”

  “I want to though,” she admitted, looking up at him with eyes full of desire.

  “Fuck, don’t say that, Sansa,” he snarled, pressing her even closer to him, trying to ignore the growing tightness in his breeches. Those words were killing him.

  It had been days since they had last fucked, but they would have to bloody wait- at least for tonight. That was the drawback of keeping an eye on the heir to the Starks, Sandor thought sullenly, kissing his bird’s forehead and the tip of her nose before regretfully releasing her.

  “Let’s go try and get some rest,” he told her, stepping away from her, heading for the door to the hallway outside after he had placed his longsword on the bed’s head post.

  Sansa nodded and went to sit on the edge of their bed, sighing and remarking that at least it was a good thing that they once again had a feather mattress and soft pillows and hot water for a bath. Sandor could hear Osha and Hagen and Seaworth talking in the hallway outside. Sandor ignored them and barred the door just as the bird shuddered, saying, “Gods, it’s freezing tonight! I bet it’s only a matter of days before winter falls upon White Harbour and we are all buried in a few feet of snow.”

  Sandor strode silently towards the little bird and spread his palms on her knees for support as he went to one knee in front of Sansa. His eyes were almost on the same level as hers now. Sandor let his hands slide down Sansa’s long legs slowly, taking her right foot and placed it on his knee. _Seven hells, her feet are so small compared to_ _mine!_

  “What are you doing?” Sansa asked him curiously as he took off her slipper, watching him with a raised eyebrow.

  He shrugged, rasping, “Your feet must be cold.”

  Sansa’s mouth parted at that, and she stared at him with wide eyes as he began to rub her right foot carefully. They looked at each other as he finished with her right foot and started massaging her left one, rubbing his calloused fingers across her soft skin.

  Time seemed to stop inside the chamber. The little bird held her breath the whole time Sandor massaged her feet, and when he was done, rather than stand up Sandor lowered his head, his hair falling across his good cheek, hiding one of his eyes, before he began to kiss Sansa’s feet; from her toes, to the sole underneath, to her ankles. 

  After what seemed like a long time, Sandor finally looked up at Sansa, and rasped, “I love you, little bird.”

  “And I you,” she whispered softly, smiling at last, bending down at once so that she could throw her arms around his neck.

  Her sudden movements and unexpected weight made Sandor lose his balance and he fell backwards to the ground, with his little bird sprawled across his chest. They laughed at that, both forgetting for a moment that Rickon and Shaggydog were in the same room.

  “Careful, bird,” Sandor snarled, still laughing, as Sansa propped her upper body up, looking beautiful as she gazed down at him with a blush on her cheeks. Sandor brought his hands to Sansa’s back, rubbing soothing circles there now.

  “Thank you for that, big man,” Sansa chirped, ever the bloody lady who was mindful of her sodding courtesies. “I am not cold anymore.”

  “No, I don’t reckon you bloody are, bird,” Sandor rasped, pressing Sansa down towards him with his hands so that he could reach her mouth.

  “You know what?” Sansa asked him, once her lips were close enough to touch his, and her breathing was mingling with his.

  “What?” he snarled hoarsely.

  “I think we will be all right here in White Harbour, big man.” 

  He opened his mouth to say that he damned well hoped she was right, but never got the words out of his mouth. Instead Sandor pressed his eyes shut and moaned into Sansa’s mouth as she touched his tongue with the tip of hers. Whatever the morning might bring them, Sandor wished this moment would never end.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter. Thanks you so much for reading! :D Hope you all have a wonderful week!


	46. The New Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> * I have to thank my wonderful beta Onborrowedwings for helping me out with the story! :D  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

  Sandor was showing Rickon the best way a six year old could deliver a sidestroke when the Onion entered the practice yard of the New Castle. Every morning since arriving at White Harbour, Sandor had taken Rickon to practice a couple of strokes, and the boy was improving daily, eagerly learning whatever Sandor taught him now that they had changed brooms for swords with blunted edges. Sandor was proud at the uncomplaining attitude young Rickon had displayed lately, not caring about the bruises or the sore muscles he went to sleep with every night.

  “I even like it,” Rickon had told him, making it clear he found the hard work rewarding.

  But they weren’t only practicing with blunted swords now. Hagen Edar was also helping the lad improve his skills with bow and arrow and daggers whenever he was not on duty guarding the little bird, and the drilling of Stranger and Shaggydog was also taking place during the afternoons, since the animals needed to be as ready as their masters by the time they left this city.

  Sandor had been fucking glad to have his warhorse by his side again, going to see him in the stables at dawn before Sansa had even woken up. Later that morning when the bird had visited Nan, she had thrown her arms around her mare’s neck and kissed her muzzle.

  “Your feet should be wider apart, boy,” Sandor urged Rickon now, rubbing the back of his neck lightly with his gauntlet. “You don’t want to lose your balance. That’s good. Now pivot and deliver a stroke, get all your weight behind it.”

  Wild little Rickon nodded, biting his tongue in concentration as he did as Sandor had bid, gripping his blunted sword with both hands. The boy was wearing mail, plate, helm, boiled leather and a padded doublet that they had found in the armoury, all made to fit his size, and which they had been told had belonged to Ser Marlon’s son when he had been a boy. 

  Rickon was about to move forward when his attention was suddenly caught elsewhere. The young boy raised his hand to wave at someone behind Sandor, making him turn around to see that Seaworth was striding over to them.

  Two dozen men were taking their drilling with sword and shield in the yard this morning. One of the youngest squires was being driven backwards by Ser Jeor, with the eyes on his shield. Fat Ser Rickard of House Manderly, who was chuffing and puffing every time he raised his longsword, was trying to hold his own against his brother Rorn, who was savagely punishing him. On the edge of the yard, Ser Arron was holding off three foes. He was the best fighter of the northerners present. Even as Sandor watched, Arron caught one of them alongside the head, knocking him senseless. That knight, who was tall enough to look Sandor in the eye, often trained against three men, or even four, which Sandor thought wise. _In battle it is seldom one against one_.

  It amused Sandor to no end the way all of these buggers behaved whenever he and Rickon came to train. Most of the knights chose to ignore him, but would always greet their little liege lord with a smile and inquire about his health or his day. Yet whenever the boy wasn’t looking they would stare at Sandor as if they had a stick shoved right through their arse holes, and Sandor had to choke down his laughter at the way the idiots reacted to Rickon’s growing esteem for his sister’s husband.

  “Hello Lord Davos, have you come to see me beat Sandor?” Rickon asked the Onion, once he was standing in front of him. Sandor saw the glances Seaworth had drawn as he passed the men assembled here for training. _They all thought him a dead man and I wager more than half of them wish that he had remained so_. Sandor had an accurate idea of what they were probably wishing for himself.

  The Onion Knight smiled down at Sansa’s brother, saying, “I am sorry, but not today, my lord. Your sister asked me to come fetch you so we can go to our lesson.”

  Rickon groaned, looking up at Sandor with a crestfallen face. Sandor just snorted. His little bird had offered to keep on helping Seaworth learn his letters as she busied herself with teaching Rickon whatever she could remember from her lessons with the maester as a girl. Sansa had told Sandor that she was terrible at sums and figures, but was quite good in everything else, and so far she was proving to be, according to the Onion, as skilled in teaching as any of those grey pigeons and rats with leashes around their necks from Oldtown.  

  “Go on, my lord” Sandor snarled at the boy. “Don’t keep your sister waiting.”

  “But you were about to show me the countercut,” the boy objected.

  “I’ll do that tomorrow,” he promised, staring as Davos as he briefly chuckled at Rickon’s face.

  “Say, Onion,” Sandor wondered suddenly, weighing the smuggler. “How good are you with a sword?”

  Before Seaworth could answer him, one of the youngest squire’s shields flew away from his hand, grazing Sandor’s shoulder as it flew past him. Sandor stared at the shield as it clattered to the floor and then he stared at the boy, who came hurrying over at once, muttering in a frightened squeak, “Forgive me, ser,” as he tried to not look at his burned face.

  Shrugging, already turning his attention back to Seaworth and young Rickon, Sandor rasped, “Fuck your sers. Others are the knights here, not me, boy.”

  He was about to ask Davos again how well he could fight, when Sandor heard a sudden commotion behind him. Turning around he saw a man with dark hair push his way forward, an ugly angry scowl on his face as he said, “Be careful how you bark, dog. That was my son you just insulted.”

  _Bloody hells_ , Sandor thought, with a raised eyebrow as he met the bugger’s eyes. His first instinct was to ask the idiot _when_ and _how_ he had actually insulted his son, who looked old enough to defend himself, but Sandor gathered quick enough that if this man was really looking for trouble, it was not because of his precious poxy son but because of who Sandor had once been.

  _Just_ _keep your fucking mouth shut and remember to play the part of the lordly lord whenever you feel the urge to break someone’s neck_ , Sandor reminded himself now, imagining Sansa’s face in his mind as a way of distraction.

  Looking unimpressed as his gaze swept over the man and his son, Sandor replied at last in a bored voice, “Bugger that. And your son and you as well, _ser_.”

  Once again, Sandor turned around, meaning to resume his talk with Seaworth and the little bird’s brother again, but then the bloody fat whale that was Ser Rickard Manderly said in a demanding wail, “I do not like your tone, Clegane. You make the word “ _ser_ ” sound like a sneer.”

  _For fuck’s sake_ , Sandor thought impatiently, as his mouth started to twitch. He had forgotten how much he loathed knights. _Of all the places in the sodding north, we had to come to the one where they worship the Seven and have knights_. And a sorrier lot of knights he did not believe he had ever seen. Some were fat lords with old names, and other rich men who would prefer to clad themselves in velvet rather than armour, and the knights were puffed up like bladders with their honours even if they had only been knighted a month ago.

  He saw the warning in the Onion’s eyes as he became still where he stood. Rickon was aware that something was happening, for he went quiet, staring at Sandor and the knight behind him with big wary eyes.

  “Don’t mind him, Rickard,” Manderly’s brother called out loud to the fat oaf. “Don’t expect this dog to know his place. He served the Lannisters and was the kingslayer’s bastard’s guard dog for years until he tucked his tail behind his legs and ran away.”

  Unclenching his fists, Sandor turned towards Rorn Manderly at last, regarding him with a grin that he knew twisted his face into a sight not many could behold. He was not going to fall for this. As Sansa’s husband, Sandor had to mind his place and be careful to not insult these whoresons, but he _would_ defend himself if they went on with this, or else these puffed up sheep would think he feared them. _Which would be fucking ridiculous, since I could butcher them all with a hand tied behind my back_.

  “And ran away with Lord Eddard’s daughter, nonetheless,” an old man whose name Sandor did not know reminded them all. “And now here he is a thousand miles from home, married to our lady. That’s a kinder fate than you deserve, Clegane.”

  _Don’t you think I fucking know that?_ Sandor almost spat at the stranger, before Seaworth interrupted him by saying, “My lords, this is not-“

  “We are not interested in your opinion, Onion Knight,” the tall knight Arron suddenly exclaimed, making his way over to Sandor, Rickon and Davos.

  Sandor was aware that the men in the yard believed him to be an upstart who had seduced the little bird for his own ambitious plans _._ They were jealous because he was the man who stood beside Sansa and Rickon, looking after them. _The one whom the former shares a bed with, and the one whom the latter seeks out for company_.

  Snarling roughly at last, Sandor said, “If you mean to make a point with all this bleating, then bloody well get on with it and say it out right. Else wise spare me this. I have to take Lord Rickon to his sister. My wife awaits him.”

  Sandor could only hope that by mentioning Sansa the fuckers would relent and give up as well. But he was a fool to harvest such hopes.

  “Aye, your wife she is,” Arron the tall agreed. “But the north remembers, Sandor Clegane, and it doesn’t have any fond memories of you- nor of your masters. The ones whom we’ve been fighting against for so long.”

  _Joffrey is the king of worms now_ , Sandor thought, deciding that he had had enough. Interrupting the tall knight, he mocked, “You have a mouth on you, I see, but I still shit better men than you. No wonder you were left behind here with the women and children.”

  “Say that again, dog, and you’ll swallow that tongue,” Rorn bleated, drawing out his sword.

  “Fuck you, Hound!” Ser Arron spat at him, offended.

  Looking at the bare steel in Manderly’s hand, Sandor continued laughing, before he said, “Aye, I served the Lannisters once. Me and thousands more. Is each of us guilty for the crimes of the others? Anyone who says it is is a bloody liar.”

  “The Mountain that Rides-” Rorn began, but Sandor did not let him finish.

  “You take me for my brother?” Sandor spat at the mention of Gregor’s name, his whole face twisting in anger. “I didn’t know that being born a Clegane was a crime.”

  The idiots were glaring at him as if he was Tywin Lannister or Walder Frey or even worse, his brother, for fuck’s sakes!

  “It was not Clegane’s sword that killed your families,” The Onion suddenly said in a clear angry voice, moving to stand beside Sandor, staring at Ser Arron and Ser Rorn with revulsion.

  “Is that why they don’t like me, Seaworth?” Sandor snarled. It was proving to be fucking hard to keep his anger in check by now, when all he felt for these buggers was contempt.“And here I was believing it was because of how my face looks. I’m the same as all of you. The only difference is, I don’t lie about what I am. So think what you will, but don’t call me a murderer while you stand there telling each other that your shit don’t stink. You hear me? I was not there when my brother sacked the riverlands, or when the Young Wolf was murdered, or when you lot allowed the Boltons to take over the North. I was taking care of your precious Ned’s daughter and later on his son, so dump your dead at some other door.”

  “By the old gods and the new,” Rorn said, looking at Sandor with wide eyes. “Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn would surely be turning in their graves if they could see Lady Sansa now, married to-”

  “I wouldn’t finish that thought if I were you,” Sandor threatend Rorn, staring at the man with seething loathing as he reached out for the pommel of his sword, forgetting for a moment to keep his anger in check at the first words the buggering idiot had dared to say about Sansa as he spat at the man’s feet.

  “I wonder what you are worth with a sword in your hands, Hound,” Arron told Sandor, brushing the hilt of his longsword lightly with his hand.

  For a moment Sandor closed his eyes and allowed himself to imagine how things would turn out if he gave in to Ser Arron’s taunt and agreed to fight him. The prospect appealed to him greatly, for Sandor missed the sensations of fighting more than he would have thought, but he knew that it would not do for him to do this.

  He had to remember that he was no longer the Hound, which was exactly what the fuckers wanted to prove him wrong about. But Sandor had not forgotten that Rickon was here, and who knew what he would make of seeing Sandor agree to this. _You know better than to let them taunt you into doing something stupid; something bloody stupid that could harm Sansa’s reputation_.

  Looking at everyone’s face in the pale daylight of the morning, committing them all to memory, Sandor instead rasped, “Perhaps you’ll get to find out the answer to that one day soon, _ser_ , if you’re deemed good enough to go to war this time and get to walk within a mile of the fucking battlefield.”

   He spat then and sheathed his longsword without another word, before striding over to Rickon and Davos across the training yard, ripping off his gauntlets.

 

***

 

  “Hagen,” Sansa said cheerfully, as her sworn arrow made an exaggerated bow while he stood before her bedroom’s door, ready to escort her to the breakfast.

  “My lady,” Edar replied, offering her his arm. He was clad all in white, with his bow and quiver strapped to his back, two direwolf pins attaching his cloak to his shoulders, and a black ribbon on his arm in respect for his liege lady’s losses. “You grow more beautiful with every day.”

  Sansa could not help but laugh at the compliment as she closed the door behind her. “That is kind of you to say, my gallant sworn shield, though I doubt that black favours me.”

  She was wearing an old gown of black velvet lined with ermine that had belonged to Lord Wyman’s late wife. The three new gowns she had sent to be made were not ready yet. Sansa’s pack had also been wearing mourning clothes ever since arriving at White Harbour in honour of her lady mother and Robb’s memory, but Sansa had allowed Hagen to keep on wearing his white garments in honour of his wife’s memory.

  “Quite the contrary,” Edar assured her, offering her his arm. 

  Sansa took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task before her, saying a silent prayer as she took the Lorathi’s arm. She exchanged a knowing look with him as he asked her, “Ready?”

  Sansa knew what he meant. She nodded at once, answering, “Yes, I am.”

  She _was_ nervous for what her breakfast with Wynafryd and Wylla would achieve, wondering how the sisters would react to what Sansa intended to tell them. _But_ _this is little enough that I can do for Sandor_. Sansa’s big man had done so much more for her before, and never even looked for a sign of acknowledgment from her. _I only hope this works_.

  Hagen and Sansa descended the steps at the end of the hallway in silence, with the former outlaw whistling a tune from his homeland as if he did not have a care in the world. But by the time they had reached the ground floor of the New Castle, Sansa’s sworn arrow said, “He won’t like it if he finds out, Sansa.”

  “That is why I told him that we were just having breakfast,” Sansa reminded Hagen. As far as Sandor knew, this breakfast was no more than a simple kindness, an act of courtesy from her part so she could get to know their hosts better. “And that is what you will say as well if he were to asks you something about it.”

  Sandor told her two days ago about his encounter with some knights in the training yard, and he’d been so _angry_ and brooding as he said it that Sansa’s heart had gone out to him in concern and love as she watched him stare at the fire for almost half an hour, but her big man had told her not to worry about it. That it was most likely going to happen again and he did not understand how she could have been surprised by it, promising to try and not lose his temper again if it reoccurred.

  Sansa did not doubt that Sandor was as aware as she was that it could not bode well for them for this enmity with the northern lords to continue. She had also decided that it would be best to take matters into her own hands, fearing for not only her husband’s sake, but that of the knights who had now pledged themselves to Rickon since she knew that no one could defeat Sandor with a sword, and if blood was spelt then that would also hurt Rickon’s reputation. _I wish the world to see Sandor for the man he truly was, not the man the Hound had been_. _I want the world to give him a chance, and since they are not prepared to give it to him out of their own free will, I have to do something_.

  When the people of White Harbour had learned about Rickon and Sansa’s true identities, both the nobles and the townsfolk had fallen on their knees before her and her little brother, swearing their allegiance to Rickon and praying to the old gods and the new for their victory and for revenge. Some of them had even shed tears of joy as they beheld the siblings holding hands before them; but Sandor had received nothing but murderous pointed looks as people pointed at him and started whispering angrily behind their hands to the people beside them. Sandor had done nothing but stare back at all of them with a scowl on his burned face as he stood to her right, towering over them all and looking quite menacing, not giving away even a single hint of what exactly he was thinking.

  And then, the day before yesterday, Sansa had been walking by a well when she heard some washerwomen talking about a commotion in the training yard earlier that morning. Recalling that Sandor and Rickon had been there around that time, Sansa had quickly found out that what the women had gossiped about was unfortunately true.

  With her tummy twisting and pinching painfully and her nails digging into her hand, Sansa listened to Sandor as he confirmed to her what had happened, pressing her lips together and holding her tongue until her big man was done talking. Though she had pretended to be less upset by the morning’s events than she really was, Sansa had ended up coming up with this plan, after asking her Lorathi friend his opinion of it.

  “They were furious to learn of your wedding to him,” The Onion Knight had confided to Sansa and Sandor back in that deserted crofter’s cottage in the woods. “And that was only three of the Manderlys. When the rest of the world finds out, don’t expect them to react any differently.”

  Sandor had stared at Lord Seaworth when he had said that with a hard look, his mouth twitching, but Sansa had gone over to him quickly, kissing his hand in silence reassurance. There had been no more need for words from them then. Sandor and she had been ready to face the few remaining nobles first in the Merman’s Court, and then the people of the city as they walked the walls of the New Castle, but now, after the encounter in the yard, Sansa was not willing to let matters stand like this for who knew how long without doing anything about it. _That encounter could have easily turned into a fight where blood was spilled_.

If there had been anything Sansa had learned in the court of King Joffrey Baratheon, the First of His Name, it was to never trust easily. _But_ _This is not King’s Landing or Great Norvos_ , Sansa had reminded herself more than once in the past few days. _These are your people_. _Your father and Robb’s people, and now they are Rickon’s._ _You have to believe that they can be better than this_ ; _that they will be able to see how having Sandor on their side is good for us all_.

  She and Edar walked past the faded banners, broken shields, and rusted swords of a hundred ancient victories, and a score of wooden figures, cracked and worm-riddled, that could only have adorned the prows of ships a lifetime ago.

  Hagen glanced at her now and sighed, “Sandor would tell you that he does not want you to do this for him. There is great hate and anger between him and the northerners, but with time it will change.”

  Sansa almost rolled her eyes at Hagen for that. _Men can be so silly at times_ , she thought, wondering if things would have been easier for them had they arrived to a north that was still being lead by Robb…

  “Yes, I know that with time they will most likely come to appreciate his war strategies and knowledge,” she finally agreed with Hagen. “But if all goes well and my plan works, then I don’t see why the men shouldn’t come to appreciate and accept my husband earlier than that. You may not think so Hagen, but if the Manderly sisters publicly approve of Sandor, then I am sure White Harbour will follow their lead soon enough, whether they like it or not at the start.”

  “Aye, I know this city loves Wylla and Wynafryd. They are rich and beautiful and kind and good hearted. But you forget that I was once married, my lady. I know that women can have great influence and power over men, but what I am telling you is that your husband won’t like this thing that you are about to do. Not one bit.”

  Sansa frowned at that, refusing to allow Hagen’s words to make her have second thoughts on this. _He is making me feel as if I am sneaking behind Sandor’s back to something to betray him_ , Sansa thought with a frown. _But I am doing this for his sake. He would not understand any more than Hagen does_. Sandor and she had to look out for each other.

  “I don’t know what else I could do,” Sansa admitted in a whisper, looking at her feet. “I love him and it hurts me when people treat him like they did the other day. Wylla and Wynfaryd are the only way I can see that would allow me to have a hand in stopping that.”

  “We are all fools in love,” Hagen sighed in a far away tone, making Sansa look up curiously. He had a thoughtful expression on his face as he continued saying, “And I suppose that perhaps what you want to do is not so foolish after all, my lady. I do believe that if you play your cards right and do justice in describing what you and your burned man have lived though, then Wylla and Wynafryd will be jealous of you for having found true love, regardless of who Sandor was or is or even how he looks. Davos and I have already tried convincing them and Ser Marlon of it, but maybe your word is what is truly needed.”

  Sansa smiled warmly, squeezing her dear devoted sworn arrow’s arm in gratitude, remarking, “I am sure they would also be jealous of me for having such a fierce protector like you as well, my friend.”

  Hagen burst out laughing at that, and was saying to her, “You are too kind,” before a pair of voices called in a strong ringing voice, “Lady Stark.”

  Two household guards were standing beside the tall carved doors that led to the Waterway Stairs, with silver tridents in place of common spears in their hands. They bowed their heads in respect at her as they flanked the doors’ sides along with a pair of marble mermen. Sansa glanced briefly at the men clad in glittering gilded armour, halfhelms and woolen blue-green cloaks edged in silver as she passed them, acknowledging them with a smile.

  The guards threw open the doors at once, and Sansa was hit with the strong salty smell of the sea as she stepped outside the tall carved doors, her hair blowing in the cold breeze at once. The day was clear today, so she did not have to squint her eyes shut as she looked up at the northern sky and sun, before exclaiming as she gazed at the beautiful sight before her, “Gods, this is so beautiful, isn’t it?”

  _Everyone said that the Waterway Stairs are a little taste of what the Water Gardens down in Dorne are like_.

  “I guess,” Hagen chuckled. “It actually reminds me of the place where we first met. I recall there was a waterfall there.”

  “It’s a wonder you can remember that after having learned of Arman Nervere’s death and having almost lost your life thanks to Stranger,” Sansa pointed out. “You were unconscious for a while and your future was uncertain for a time.”

  “Indeed it was,” Edar said, with a big sigh.

  Sansa returned her attention to the Waterway Stairs before her. This place had quickly become Sansa’s favourite place in White Harbour. Waking up the first morning after they had arrived here to the sight of the Waterway Stairs below her bedroom window had taken Sansa’s breath away even as she was completely surprised to realize that she did not have many memories from her previous visit to the city in this place.

  The New Castle was the furthest place from the sea in this port city, so the Manderlys had built the Waterway Stairs many hundreds of years ago to make up for the lack of beach and sea and waves in their home. The Waterway Stairs were mostly compromised of a long wide marble stairway that led to a wide pool at the base of the hill where the castle had been built, with fountains and white colonnades flanking its side.

  The wide pool was in the middle of a long cobblestone courtyard at the end of the stairway, and the courtyard was decorated with a terrace shaded by trees, as well as fluted pillars and a gallery leading to a triple archway. In a way, the Waterway Stairs were almost like the place she had always dreamed of, like the beautiful magical court she had once hoped to find at King’s Landing.

  Hagen Edar led Sansa down the Waterway Stair, making her laugh against her wishes as he spoke of the way little Rickon had thrown a bowl of porridge at Ser Marlon’s grandson this morning as he broke his fast. Sansa knew though that her sworn arrow was really just trying to keep her from thinking about all the things she could do or say to ruin the task she had set for herself.

  Wynafryd and her younger sister Wylla were seated beside the pool at the end of the stairs, and a round table had been placed beneath the shade of the trees, with food and flowers and drinks awaiting them. There were also three guards nearby, Sansa saw, ready to protect their beloved mistresses if any need or danger arose.

  The moment Sansa and Edar’s feet touched the ground, Wylla Manderly walked over to meet them at once, smiling as she exclaimed in a high thin voice, “Lady Sansa! I’m so pleased you asked us to break your fast with you. We have looked forward to this moment where just the three of us will be together so much! My sister and I can only hope we do not bore you to death.”

  Wylla, a maid of five and ten, was slender and beautiful. Today she had left her long dyed garish green hair loose, and her pale blue eyes were shining bright with joy. Sansa liked both sisters very much.

  “That is not possible,” Sansa replied softly, remembering Frema, her dearest friend as she smiled when Wylla took her hands and gave them a squeeze. “I thank you for agreeing to it. But please, won’t you call me Sansa?”

  “ _S-Sansa_ , my lady?” Wylla asked, surprised but pleased.

  “Yes, Sansa. We have known each other for weeks now and we still do notcall each other by our given names. It is a little silly!”

  “All right,” Wylla agreed eagerly, nodding. “Sansa.”

  “And might I call you Wylla? And your sister, Wynafryd, too?”

  “Oh yes, Wyn will not mind it either,” Wylla assured her.

  Her sister Wynafryd came to stand beside her sister, smiling up at Sansa and bowing, as she said, “You do us a great honour, my lady. I- I mean, Sansa. But you can call me Wyn as well.”

  Wynafryd Manderly was taller than her sister but shorter than Sansa. There was a dignity to the way she conducted herself, even when she was just sitting down in a room, supping. Wynafryd had styled her hair with a long braid that was bound with jeweled rings this morning.

  Both sisters were richly garbed, wearing dark-blue gowns, embroidered with silver thread at the hem and the sleeves and the collars.

  “My ladies,” Hagen suddenly said with a smile, bowing to the sisters.

  The sisters greeted Sansa’s sworn arrow before he went over to stand beside a tree, giving them privacy, but still close enough in case Sansa needed to protection.

  As Sansa and the Manderly siblings took their seats, Sansa could not help but remark, “This place is wonderful.”

  Wylla sighed, as her sister replied, “Yes, and you should see it at night whenever Grandfather hosts singers, or when mummers present the night of the harvest moon. At least we always kept singers at court, and pipers and fiddlers and harpers too. It serves as a distraction, you see. Or else I am afraid many of the ladies at the Merman’s Court would go mad.”

  “Like mother almost did,” Wylla muttered, making her Sansa and Wynafryd look at her in surprise. Sansa’s mouth opened and closed, unsure as to what to say to that.

  “Wylla, mind your words or what will she think of us?” Wynafryd said quickly, a hint of embarrassment in her voice. “Please excuse her, Sansa.”

  “It’s all right,” Sansa said, with a sympathetic smile.

  “We never had big masks or balls or festivals here even before the war,” Lady Wynafryd continued. “But we do miss working on our costumes for the harvest moon. We worked on them for months.”

  “We were our own dress-makers on those occasions,” Wylla told Sansa, signaling for a servant to draw his attention. “And it proved to be good training for these days when we must sew and make clothes for the poor or for the troops.”

  “We all saw better days before this war started,” Wynafryd commented, with a sigh.

  “Let us pray to the gods that we see them again,” Sansa agreed, before she took a sip of her rosedew tea.

  The courtyard echoed to the clatter of spoons and plates as she suddenly offered, “I could help you with the sewing. I am very good at embroidery and made my own wedding cloaks as we sailed from Lorath to Braavos.”

  “Oh that is so kind of you, my lady- I mean, Sansa,” Wynafryd told her, smiling. “I am sure the people of White Harbour would be grateful to you for that.”

  “My lady?” a handsome servant asked Wylla, an empty tray in his hands.

  “Are the cakes ready?”

  “I’ll go and see to the kitchens,” the servant said with a bow, turning on his heels and heading for the Waterway Stairs.

  “We were told by Edar,” Lady Wylla said to her, sparing a quick glance at Hagen as she suddenly leaned closer to Sansa. “That you like lemon cakes?”

  A big grin appeared on Sansa’s face at those words, her dimples appearing on both of her cheeks.

  “Lemon cakes are my favourite,” she confessed, smoothing down her skirts.

  Sansa’s eyes fell on the other food on the table. There was a broth of leeks and mushrooms, fresh baked white bread, olives and cheese, and several different drinks. After the week she had spent in the wild after arriving at Westeros, she had grown to miss any food that was not roasted hare or bird or squirrel.

_I must enjoy these while I can_ , she thought, straightening her shoulders. The march to Winterfell was going to be hard and long now that snow and winter was descending on the North, and there was not going to be much diversity in what Sansa and the others received to eat once again.

  “Maybe, if you like,” Sansa began to say, making up her mind. “I could come with you the next time you go visit the townfolk. We could bring them food and I could see who needs to have their wools or clothing mended. Lift up their spirits in a way.”

  The sisters agreed with her idea at once, claiming that would make the people of White Harbour very happy. Sansa smiled at that, glad to hear she had thought of a way to benefit the north, even if it was a little act of kindness in comparison to what others had already done in the war.

  “How is Lord Rickon?” Wylla asked Sansa, as she cut a slice of cheese.

  “Very well,” she answered. “Hagen was just telling me the commotion he created earlier this morning.”

  The sisters laughed, before the eldest mustered her courage and ventured in, “And the others? Your husband and Osha?”

  “They are well too,” Sansa replied, thinking that the time to steer the conversation towards her big man was approaching.  “Have you received any ravens from Winterfell? Or from somewhere else? From Lord O- from your grandfather?”

  Sansa almost bite her tongue at that _. I almost called Lord Manderly Lord Oaf out loud in front of to the granddaughters that love him!_ She hoped she could remember to tell her big man to stop calling Lord Wyman Lord Oaf before her when they were in private so much. Luckily neither Wynafryd nor Wylla seemed to notice her blunder.

  “I am afraid we have not,” Wyn said, as her sibling shook her head. “The news has not yet spread as quickly as it would in others times about you and your brother. We have not even heard from our parents, so words of you have not yet reached their ears, and they are closer to us than Winterfell is.”

  Sansa nodded, not one bit surprised. _The big man and I are used to waiting for tidings of the realm. We would never have made it in the east otherwise_.

  “Which is really a good thing if we mean to surprise our enemies,” Wylla remarked. “Some may not expect that we mean to aid Stannis.”

  “Your kindness to us has been unfailing,” Sansa admitted. “I am sorry for any troubles we may have put you to, and-”

 “Oh no, my lady- I mean Sansa,” the youngest sister interrupted, as the servant brought two trays with two dozen lemon cakes. “Please don’t apologize. Do not even mention it. We are glad to be the ones to keep you safe.”

  “Whatever happens,” Sansa said, thankful for those words. “I hope you know that Rickon and I will never forget what House Manderly has done for our family. I- I want us to be friends. Good friends. Would you like that?”

  She looked with hopeful eyes at the two sisters, holding her breath as she waited to hear their answer, careful to mind the way their eyes and features moved and changed as they thought and considered her words.

  _Thank you gods_ , Sansa told the old gods and the new when she decided that she could not detect any signs of betrayal or lies in the Manderly sisters’ faces. But Sansa did see a hint of hesitation in their eyes, though she learned what that was all about a moment later, after Wynafryd and Wylla had exchanged a look and the former began in a wary tone, “We would like that very much, Sansa. We really would, but-”

  “But what?” Sansa said, trying to keep her own face from showing any emotions, vaguely registering that none of them were paying any attention to the food or the drinks anymore. “Please, speak freely.”

  _If you two speak freely now, I may do the same when I start pleading to you both for Sandor’s sake_.

  “Forgive us Sansa,” Wylla said quickly, apparently unable to hold herself back any longer. “But we _must_ ask you this. We do not know what to make about it. We have been hoping we could talk to you, and it appears that that time has come to do so. Wynafryd and I have been wondering about- about your husband.”

  _And there it is_ , Sansa thought, not at all surprised, gathering all the steely control that she possessed.

  “We were very sorry for what happened the other day in the training yard,” her sister said for way of apology for Wylla’s forwardness, glancing about nervously as she grabbed a lemon cake.

  “Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that,” Sansa said, never blinking.

  “We just need to understand what happened between you and Sandor Clegane,” Wylla continued.

  “You and the north both,” Sansa answered, registering the fact that Hagen had turned sideways where he stood so he could hear the conversation better. Sansa was glad that there were no servants coming or going right now. “I do thank you for your thoughtfulness and concern though.”

  “But _how_ can you _really_ claim to love him?” Wylla wondered, drawing a little intake of breath from her sister. “How did that came to happen?”

She tried to keep a good posture and a cool demeanour as she smiled confidently at the sisters in front of her, before she took another deep breath, thinking that perhaps no one ever got to chose whom they would end up loving in this life. _Maybe it’s all already written in our futures before we are even born_.

  “How could I not love him?” Sansa replied. “He is the truest and bravest man I have ever known. We have been through so much together. As to your second question, well it really was not so hard. I just learned to live with the little things that I now find comfort in whenever I am with him.” _Which I adore._

  “We _have_ seen the way he is around you,” Wylla clarified. “He is less- less rough and frightening. But he is the Hound, my lady. All of Westeros from the Wall to Dorne has heard various troubling tales about him.”

  “And are tales of my husband’s past the only stories you have heard regarding my time and acquaintances in King’s Landing?” she inquired, familiar with this hard truth. With the fact that it was widely believed by everyone in the Seven Kingdoms that Sandor had been just as evil as his dead brother, The Mountain that Rides.

  “Well no,” Wynafryd finally admitted. “There has also been some rumours about how the Lannisters mistreated you. Is there any truth to them?”

  “Of course there is truth to them,” Wylla snapped at her sister before Sansa could even open her mouth. “She was in the Lannisters’ clutches, Wyn. It’s a mercy she escaped them.”

  “Sandor did that,” Sansa pointed out. “He saved me from the Lannisters on the night the Blackwater burned when Stannis attacked the capital.”

  “We heard about that night. The word is that the Hound- pardons, I mean, Lord Clegane turned craven and got so drunk Tyrion Lannister had to take his men during the height of the battle.”

  Sansa nodded, reminding herself to remain calm and composed. They could not understand that it was only the fire Sandor had feared. But Sansa understood. She knew the secret of his burned face. It was only the fire he feared. That night, the wildfire had set the river itself ablaze, and filled the very air with green flame. Even in the castle, Sansa had been afraid. And then outside, the memories of riding through a city on fire on Stranger with her arms wrapped tight around Sandor’s chest as they left the Red Keep behind would always remain vivid recollections in her mind. From the way the ships had burned out in the bay, to the green shadows flashing across the belly of the clouds.

  “He came on the night of the battle to my chambers to offer take me away from the city,” Sansa confessed to the sisters. And then she said with full certainty, “Accepting his offer was the wisest decision I’ve ever made.”

  “Was the bastard king as evil as they said?” Wylla asked her after a moment when silence had reigned. “Or were his mother and the Imp the ones behind Lord Eddard’s death and all else?”

  Sansa gulped, realizing that if she opened up about King’s landing, there was a chance that maybe Wyn and Wylla would be able to understand her position a little better. For a moment Sansa wished that she could have her husband beside her so she could reach out for his hand under the table. _Gods, give me strength_. _And let me convince them and make them understand the way I did with Lord Davos back in Braavos_.

  After a few heartbeats Sansa managed to reply, “I do not know what exactly happened during the days before and after my father’s beheading. I went to plead for his life to the king, and was promised by my betrothed that he would treat my father with mercy. But then he cut his head off and said that was mercy. And the first time I saw Joffrey after my lord father was murdered, the king took me to the walls and made me look at his head. Sandor was there…. He was always there.”

  Sansa had the Manderlys’ sibling’s rapt attention with her words by then. And so Sansa told them everything that she deemed necessary to win over Wylla and Wynafryd to her and her big man’s side.

  At times Sansa could not help herself and she spoke in a quiet tremulous voice since it was hard to get the words out of her mouth as memories of her time as a hostage came back to her, when she had to pretend so hard she was pleased at becoming queen one day.

  “ _Oh gods_ ,” Wynafryd had said, horrified as she spoke of being beaten by every member of the Kingsguard. _Every member but Sandor_. “Joffrey was a monster! You were so brave, Sansa. And then in the trial, with that awful magister!”

  Wylla had stared at her with her mouth hanging open in a wide O, and after Sansa told them about the last time she had ever seen Joffrey, the youngest of the Manderly sisters spat, “I have never been so glad to hear of someone’s death. He and Ramsay Snow are bastards who I hope burn in hell forever, and soon.”

  By the time Sansa was done with her and Sandor’s story after they had fled King’s Landing, right up until her wedding before the heart tree, Sansa was glad of the fact that she did not cry a single tear. _Joff can’t make me weep anymore_. _Nor Arman Nervere._ It wasn’t the ghosts from her past that Sansa should worry about, but the foes in her, Sandor and Rickon’s futures.

  Wylla Manderly was actually smiling as she asked Sansa in a voice that was overwhelmed, and threatened to break at any moment, “You two really are in love, aren’t you?”

  Sansa beamed at Wylla for that. She returned her smile, and answered, “Yes, yes we are and have been for quite some time. I cannot imagine a day I won’t love him.”

  “We are very sorry, Sansa,” Wynafryd said in a shy tone. “We did your husband a great injustice. We now see why you married him. We did think that you had made a terrible mistake when Edar and Lord Seaworth told us that you had married Lord Clegane, and if you two were not married yet, things may have been more complicated, but since you are, and now you have won us to your side, and what’s done is done. No need to cry and brood over spilled milk.”

  “It hurts me when something like what happened in the training yard occurs,” Sansa confessed. “I know that maybe my husband is also to blame for allowing the others’ taunts to provoke him, but I have already spoken to him. Yet the men responsible- this Ser Arron and Ser Rorn, and Rickard Manderly and his brother- I do not yet know them well, unlike you both. That is why I wanted to see if we could count on your with your support now that you know the truth.”

  “Yes of course!” the sisters said at once. “We will do whatever we can.”

  “So you will really help us then?” Sansa asked, reaching out for the Manderly siblings hands with her own, deeply thankful to them for not asking anything in return. “To convince the northerners to accept him?”

  “We will,” Wylla promised her. “Of course we will.”

  “I think,” Wynafryd said, thoughtfully. “I think that it would be wise for you two to marry again by the old gods. You have the proof that your marriage by the Faith did happen in Braavos, but your second wedding lacks the required witnesses. Not many will like it, but if enough people saw your wedding, it would at least make your marriage a little less frowned upon.”

  A sob almost escaped Sansa at those words, for that was something she and Sandor had always known and had agreed on doing At long last Sansa could feel tears blurring her vision. She held them back, but would not have minded if they had fallen down her cheeks, since they were tears of joy. Instead she looked over at Hagen Edar, who winked and smirked in approval at her, shaking his head in disbelief, chuckling.

  Sansa thanked Wynafryd and Wylla after spending some more time in the courtyard with them, before she left them, walking up the Waterway Stairs in search of Sandor, eager to see her dearest big man. She was not going to tell him what she had just done for him and their marriage, but he had to know that they would have to marry again, and that now they had two more allies. She smiled as she imagined the way her big man would frown in suspicion when she first told him the news, almost as if he did not trust his ears.

  She crossed the New Castle until she reached the castle’s walls, and the training yard where Sandor had fought two days ago. He was not training this morning though, Sansa was relieved to see, pausing long enough to make certain of that, before hastily going on her way. Some minutes later, Sansa found her husband in the forge, supervising the bellows from the blacksmith as he worked on the dents of his armour.

  The corridor where she stood looking at him was crowded. Nonetheless, Sandor glanced in her direction after a few heartbeats, grinning at her at once, before his burned features twisted into a smirk as she blushed under his warm hard gaze, returning his smile with her full heart. Wordlessly, Sandor had lifted his arm towards her as an invitation for her to take his hand and join him, which she did, waiting beside his warm powerful body in the forge until his mail and armour were ready...

  Sandor and Sansa were married once more by the old gods in the godwood of the Wolf’s Den almost a week later, with many witnesses in attendance this time. Sansa and her big man knew that many were not happy with the wedding in the first place, but they attended nonetheless, and a few were even courteous enough in the stilled conversations they engaged Sandor in, proving that the Manderly sisters had indeed started using their influence with the people of White Harbour in Sandor and Sansa’s defence.

  _Some squires even hooted as we kissed_ , Sansa remembered the day after, throwing her arms around Sandor as her big husband closed the door of their bedroom behind him on the night of their third wedding, hoping with all her heart that this was an auspicious start to this new beginning in the north for them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Reviews are love! <3 Hope you liked this chapter! :D


	47. White Harbour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> * I owe a thousand thank you to my great beta, Onborrowedwings!! :D  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

  Sansa, Sandor, Rickon, and their companions knew that there was no point in delaying their stay here in White Harbour. Many days had now passed, with no ravens bringing news about what was happening outside the city’s walls or anywhere west of the White Knife. A bird had even been sent to Jon Snow at the Wall, but the new Lord Commander had yet to answer them. Therefore, they had all agreed that the time to plan the journey to Winterfell had come.

  Sandorwas making his way through the New Castle, heading over to the bedroom he and the little bird had all to themselves ever since young Rickon had moved out of it, thinking that they he and the little bird had been lucky since the news Seaworth had confessed to them months ago was all turning out to be true. 

  They had both been relieved to see that Lord Oaf was indeed secretly building warships, for one. There were more than twenty war galleys hidden in the inner harbour, and even though Manderly was no longer in the city, progress on them continued, Sandor and Sansa had wished to see for themselves if Lord Lamprey really was hiding the ships up the White Knife, and had pretended to go hawking one morning as an excuse in order to confirm this with their own eyes.

  _That was a good day_ , Sandor remembered; away from the daily stares and endless pointing and rumours about him and his bird. Things they noticed even if they were supposedly done behind their sodding backs. But on the day of the hawking trip, beside counting the ships from a distance, Sandor and the little bird had also raced beside the White Knife, putting their heels to Stranger and Wylla Manderly’s mare the way they had done long ago back in that cabin by the sea in the Bay of Lorath. The little bird was currently unable to ride her own horse since that would have harmed Stranger and Nan’s foal.

  The White Knife river was the furthest place from White Harbour that Sandor had deemed it safe to ride to that day, aware in the back of his mind all the while that he would have to take his little bird and her brother to Winterfell, regardless of the fucking danger it had become. _Especially if your surname is Stark._

  “I have waited to see Winterfell for more than half a year now, my love,” Sansa had chirped at him, when he asked her what she would think of staying behind in White Harbour until he aided rigid Stannis’s defeat the bloody Boltons. “It’s silly of you to not know what I would answer to that beforehand. And besides, how do you expect I would survive without you by my side for gods know how long?”

  But no matter what his little wife told him, Sandor could not readily forget the other reasons behind his fear and hesitations to taking Sansa out of White Harbour, with Roose Bolton’s bastard son being one of them. His wife might know that the whoreson was the one who had taken Winterfell from Theon Greyjoy, and that he was married to a girl the north believed to be Arya Stark, but the little bird didn’t need to hear how Ramsay Snow hunted woman down for sport, raping and skinning. Even the bloody smallfolk hereabouts feared the bastard, and had taken shelter inside White Harbour’s thick white walls.

  His bird had gone pale when she learned how the man had forced Lady Hornwood to marry him, refusing to feed her until the woman died of starvation, but not before she chewed off her own fingers- and even if Sandor knew that his bird would manage to bring out the northern wolf in her when they set out for the long march to Winterfell, he had many doubts.

  It was not Sansa he doubted, or her strength, but the fickle bitch called life that could decide to play a trick on them all before long, causing the little bird or Rickon to eventually lose their yet precarious place in the game of thrones.

  The city walls of White Harbour were not only full of silver, but strong and far away from where Ramsay Snow was presently at, so Sansa was relatively safe here; but out there in the wild and with winter already upon them, she could get sick or hurt or captured or worse _._

  Taking a drink from the flagon of wine he had found in the kitchens before instructing some servants to prepare a bath for him in his chambers, Sandor reasoned that the best he could hope for was for Stannis to have already fought his battle with the bastard by the time Sansa got within ten leagues of her home.

  Sandor had gone to check on Stranger quickly, feeling by then the ache that training gave him, telling his destrier about how he had gone to the empty training yard at dawn with Hagen Edar and a sleepy Rickon to practice in order to keep his promise to Sansa of avoiding those fucking knights whom he knew would be ready to confront him the first moment he let his guard down.

  He laughed as he recounted to Stranger what a fool Edar was making of himself every morning since Sandor started teaching the former outlaw- who happened to be  the only man in this bloody city who did not think it was beneath him to train with the former Hound- how to fight with a sword in his hand. It was necessary since training a boy as young as Rickon was not the only drilling Sandor needed to practice, and even if the Lorathi was indeed as useless as he’d ever been with a blade, at least today the little bird’s sworn arrow had given Sandor a decent fight.

  _At least Stranger still gives me a good workout whenever I take him to the outskirts of the city to drill him_ , Sandor remembered with pride. His warhorse had never disappointed him.

  Striding down the hallways outside his chamber, Sandor let out a long content sigh as he remembered the prospect of taking a warm bath, even as he placed the flagon of wine on a table in front of his bedroom, since it was empty by now. He grabbed the doorknob and grinned, listening to the sound of the little bird’s soft voice saying something inside the bedroom, before he opened the door without any knock that would announce his presence. Sandor knew before he even met Sansa’s eyes that her face would light up at the sight of him, and when she saw him and a smile as warm as the sun appeared on her face, Sandor’s breath caught in his throat, feeling glad and thankful to his little wife for that.

 

***

 

  Sansa tugged at her robe as she stepped into the bedroom, frowning slightly, her bare feet falling softly on the carpet as she walked towards the windows. This was the third time this morning she had to use the chamber pot, so when the kettle in the hearth started to hiss and one of her maids asked her if she wanted a cup of tea, Sansa declined.

  _If I don’t drink anything anymore, I won’t have to find some privy in the city when I least expect it_ , she reasoned, opening the shutters as she took a deep breath.

  She loved to feel the cold northern wind singing around her, and the mornings in White Harbour were always cool and lovely, with the salt breeze blowing from the sea somehow comforting to her.

  _Today is going to be a good day_ , Sansa told herself, smiling as she imagined how this day would turn out. She would be visiting the Old Mint with Wyn and Wylla to see the people who had taken shelter in that building, bringing them food and warm clothing. 

  The first few times she had gone to the Old Mint, Rickon had gone with her, and Sandor had refused to leave her side all the time that they were there but his constant scowl always scared the smallfolk so. After their first three visits it had been decided that Rickon would no longer visit every single time that Sansa did, and a week later Sandor had finally deemed it all right if she went with the Manderly sisters, their guards, and Hagen Edar into the city alone, without him.

  Sansa was sad to part with her husband during those hours, but both Sandor and she knew it was for the best since not only had the mothers, children, old, sick and wounded, started to open up to her more ever since it was Hagen Edar by her side rather than Sandor, but also because it showed to the world that Lady Sansa’s sworn arrow was capable to take care of her. Not that her big man didn’t force her to take the dagger with the pretty pink hilt that had belonged to that archer in the Kingswood with her on those occasions, hiding it in the folds of her clothes, for he did. But so far Sansa could not help but thank the old gods and the new for the fact that she had never yet been forced to use it.

  _Sandor always got terribly bored when he accompanied me to the Old Mint anyways_ , Sansa reasoned, running her fingers through her auburn locks as she closed her eyes and let the sounds of the city below take over her senses. _And poor Septon Huern always looks as if he fears the big man will suddenly snap and bite his head off_. Sansa smiled, for that was exactly what crossed Sandor’s mind every time he’d met Septon Huern.

  _He_ _should be back by now though_ , Sansa thought with a sigh. Not only did Sansa have to part with her husband for long hours on the days she visited the Old Mint, but now she was not even waking up beside her husband in the morning, since by the time Sansa opened her eyes Sandor was long gone, practicing in the empty training yard, her shield brother and their Lorathi friend before the knights that were staying in the New Castle arrived, in an attempt to avoid having another encounter with them.

  Not that those knights were looking to provoke Sandor anymore as far as Sansa could tell. After their breakfast in the Waterway Stairs, besides forming a rapidly growing friendship with the girls, Sansa had also kept a lookout for any rumours, or opinions or incidents regarding Sandor, but according to the Manderly sisters and Hagen and even Lord Seaworth, there had not been much to worry about in the past weeks.

  Sighing deeply, Sansa opened her eyes, her gaze falling on the streets and rooftops of White Harbour beyond the castle’s walls at once. _At least we will be leaving for Winterfell in a fortnight_ , she remembered excitedly, feeling as if butterflies were nervously flapping their wings inside her tummy.  _After all this time, Rickon and I are finally going_ home _for true_!

  “The bath is ready, m’lady,” the youngest of Sansa’s maids suddenly informed her, interrupting her musings.

  “Thank you, let us just hope that Lord Clegane comes back before the water grows cold,” Sansa said after a moment, turning around to face the servant as the maid curtsied and walked out of the bedroom, a pair of empty wooden pails in both her hands.

  Sansa had been given two maids; one was older than her lady mother but still pretty, and the other one was called Trenn and was seven and ten and had a wart on her nose. The older one, called Maddy, and was at present laying out Sansa’s black woollen dress on the bed. Sansa gazed at the large, airy bedroom momentarily, thinking back on all the things the Manderly sisters had done for her and her pack thus far.

  _I have known Wylla and Wynafryd for only a few weeks so far, but already I owe them so much_. The small gestures of a featherbed to sleep on, hot water to bathe in, and warm food for her belly were simple ones yet Sansa had come to appreciate these things during her long travels in the east, making her eternally thankful to Wyn and Wylla for them, among their other kindnesses.

  They were also wonderful hostesses, since this bedroom which Sansa shared with her big man had woollen carpets scattered all over the floor, and tapestries on the walls. Tall beeswax candles to give more than ample light and furnishings, like a long table, a settle, a chest, several tall cases full of books, and chairs.

  But what Sansa truly valued above else was the way the sisters were not only staunch supporters of Rickon, but also of her and Sandor now.

  “Will m’lady be wanting anything else to break her fast with?” Maddy asked her, grabbing the discarded food tray from the table.

  “Oh no,” Sansa said at once, clutching at her full tummy. “I already feel as if my belly was about to burst. I wonder if I will even fit in that gown.”

  She had already eaten her breakfast, though she had not been very hungry, and every bite of the fresh-caught fish, spiced mutton, warm bread, turnips, carrots and crabs had been chewed and swallowed dutifully.

  Maddy laughed at her words, muttering, “You’ll fit in it all right, Lady Stark, don’t worry. Would you like to change into it right now?”

  Sansa was about to open her mouth and reply that she supposed that would be fine, when the door to the bedroom flew open, and Sandor strode inside, a wide grin on his burned features.

  His grey eyes met hers at once, and he moved as if to take her in his arms before realizing that there was another person in the room. Glancing at Maddy, Sandor snarled a simple but menacing, “Out,” before resuming gazing at her again.

  Sansa smiled against her will due to the way her big man’s eyes were roaming over her as she stood in the middle of the room in her nightgown and robe since that look always took her breath away, even as she blushed in embarrassment for the way poor Maddy had been dismissed from the room.

  She lowered her eyes to the floor for a moment so she could recover herself with a blush before turning to look over at the maid, expecting to see the woman looking either afraid or affronted. But Sansa was taken aback when she saw the way Maddy’s eyes were roaming over Sandor in appreciation.

  “Leave us now,” Sansa commanded the servant at once, forgetting her intention to apologize for Sandor’s behaviour. “And bar the door.”

  “Yes, m’lady. M’lord,” Maddy replied, without even looking at Sansa again. She left the room and locked the door behind her.

  _Really!_ Sansa thought, feeling partly jealous, partly amused, and partly proud, even if her big man didn’t seem to have notice anything was amiss- or at least if he had, Sandor didn’t considered it worth his attention.

  The moment they were alone Sandor reached Sansa in three long strides and picked her up in his arms, saying in a growl, “Morning, my bird.”

  Sansa gave him a quick kiss and whispered, “Good morning, Sandor.”

  “Oh fuck, I’ve missed you,” Sandor told her, nosing her hair and robe out of the way so he could kiss the skin of her neck and the shoulder that her nightgown partially revealed.

  “Your bath is ready,” she told him, turning her face away from him as she played with the sash of her robe.

  “My bath can wait,” he rasped, pressing her closer to him.

  “Sandor,” she began to protest, but he only kissed her words away.

  Holding her breath until Sandor released her, Sansa turned away from him at once.

  “What is it?” Sandor wondered at once, realizing something was wrong, and placing a heavy hand on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around and make him look at him.

  Sansa did this, considering her choice of before she suddenly burst into giggles. _He’ll probably just laugh_ , she reasoned. _And not care_ _at all_.

  “Darling, I- I missed you too, but it’s just that,” she began, hesitatingly. “Well, you smell quite bad, you see. Please, go take your bath now.”

  Sandor blinked down at her in disbelief for a moment before he did just as she had expected he would, bursting into a long rasping laughter that echoed off the walls and rumbled through her all the way to her core, a laugh choked with amusement.

  “Seven hells, I smell _that_ bad, do I?” he asked her, reaching out to ruffle her hair with his hand. “Ah well, I reckon I do. All right, little bird, stop wriggling your nose like that. I’ll go wash up, but I am not done with you yet.”

  Chuckling, Sansa thanked him and watched him as he started removing his water-stained leather jerkin and scuffed boots first. When he was standing only in his patched brown breeches and tunic, Sandor said with incredulity, “It’s a bloody wonder you can’t stand being around me right now, my bird, but can spend hours feeding those ugly peasants and their poxy whelps without a single complaint escaping that pretty mouth of yours.”

  Sandor’s shirt was open to the waist, and Sansa had been staring at the way it exposed the thick black hair that covered his chest, wishing to go over and run her hands and fingers through it, before Sandor’s laughter broke her reverie.

  “I am sorry darling, what did you say?” she asked, watching him take off his tunic to reveal his muscled chest to her, the sight appealing to her instincts at once. _No wonder Maddy was staring_.

  Laughing again, aware of the way she was gazing at him, Sandor answered, “Why don’t you join me in the tub, little bird?”

  “You know I can’t,” Sansa admitted with regret. “I am going to be late, darling. Remember that I have to get ready for-”

  “-For visiting that bunch of scrawny families you have taken under your wing,” Sandor interrupted, finishing for her, a trace of contempt beneath his words. “They can wait. Your husband needs you more than they do.”

 “Sandor, don’t say those things with so much disdain. They are good people who need help and are just hoping to survive this war. Rickon will one day rule over them if the gods are willing, and they have to remember that the Starks aided them in-”

  “Enough, little bird, I know you’re reasons,” Sandor told her, removing his breeches. He was now standing as naked as his nameday in front of her, and Sansa was looking at him as he went on talking, noticing the rich crop of bruises all over his body from all the training he was doing these days, before letting her eyes linger on his manhood and the coarse hair down there.

  “I was not saying that they are bad. But whatever they are that doesn’t mean they aren’t still a useless pack of mouths,” her husband finished, before starting to walk away from her.

  Sansa frowned at Sandor, watching his backside as he entered the adjacent room to the bedroom where the bath tub and chamber pot were. She shook her head in resignation, knowing that it was of no use to try and make her big man change that stubborn opinion he had of the smallfolk living in the Old Mint.

  Deciding it was best to wait a little to clean her face until her big man had washed up properly, Sansa braided her hair and took off her robe in the meanwhile, placing it on the bed beside her mourning gown, absentmindedly humming a melody from Norvos to herself.

  Her husband was already inside the tub by the time she walked to the bathing room, scrubbing himself with a bar of soap and a brush, smelling much better already.

  Sansa walked over towards the water basin, noticing the way her big man’s eyes seemed to devour her, as she commented, “I am afraid you are a lost cause, dearest.”

  Sandor understood her meaning, and he gave a bark of laughter, rasping, “Let’s see if you still think as highly of those peasants once you catch the porridge plague from them.” 

  That caught Sansa’s attention. _Porridge plague?_ She turned around to regard a Sandor with an arched eyebrow, completely at a loss.

  “You haven’t heard of it?” Sandor asked her, in disbelief. “Don’t you have it here in the North?”

  Taking a step towards him, Sansa shook her head. _Did Maester Luwin or Mother ever mention it? Septa Mordane certainly didn’t._

  “I- I don’t think we do,” she admitted, growing wary.

  “Well, you won’t like it once you have it, Sansa,” he told her, with a snort, “Your skin starts to look like boiled oats and your face falls off with time.”

  Sansa could not help but gasp at that, “But that is awful!”

  Sandor’s mouth began to twitch before he suddenly burst into a loud laughter that sounded just like iron does when it’s scraping over stone. Sansa’s mouth dropped opened in a small O at that.  _Oh gods be good!_

  “You’re- oh Sandor, I can’t- I almost believed you!” she exclaimed, walking over towards the wooden tub, trying hard not to laugh, and failing miserably.

  “You should have seen your face, bird,” Sandor growled, reaching out with one hand for hers, while the other one fisted a piece of the hem of her nightgown.

  Sansa shook her head as she took her big man’s big hand, highly enjoying the way Sandor played with her like this, despite her next words.

  “You know, sometimes I think you and Arya would have gotten along just fine. Both of you have enjoyed vexing me out of my wits more times than I can tell.”

  “Didn’t the little she-wolf hate my guts?” Sandor asked her, still laughing as he went on tugging at the fabric of her nightgown.

  “Well yes,” Sansa confessed. “But maybe that would have changed with time.”

  “I doubt it,” Sandor said dismissively, looking up at her with a strange expression appearing in his face. His laughter died away at once then, but a mischievous grin remained.

  “Darling?” Sansa began to ask hesitantly, before her breath caught in her throat as Sandor yanked her by the arm towards him.

  The next thing she knew Sansa had fallen into the wooden tub with a little startled squeak, warm water splashing loudly everywhere. At once her nightgown was soaked, and Sandor could not stop laughing.

  _He does have the warmest laugh sometimes_ , she thought in amazement, fleetingly, before gasping, “ _Sandor!”_

  Sansa sat up, still a little startled, realizing at last that she had fallen right on her big man’s lap, as his strong arms moved to encircle her.

  “Yes, little bird?” Sandor rasped, still laughing as his eyes regarded her with amusement, rubbing her arms in soothing motions.

  “Sandor, my nightgown,” she said feebly, looking at her husband with a resigned sigh. Sansa could not really get mad at him for pulling her into the tub when he was looking at her like he currently was.

  But he only shrugged and growled, “The nightgown will be dry by the time you come from visiting your new _friends_ , my bird. You were planning on getting out of it anyways, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, I was,” she admitted, staring at her right hand, which had landed on his chest as Sandor raised his hands from her arms and moved them to fist her auburn hair, silently undoing her braid.

  Sansa began to caress the hard muscles and bruises underneath her palm, feeling the strong beating of her big man’s heart, touching him slowly since she loved to touch Sandor’s body like this.

  Straddling her husband, Sansa leaned on her big man’s warm chest as she brought her mouth to his good cheek and her hand to tenderly stroke his scarred one, leaving a trail of kisses on his neck and behind the remains of his bad ear, nibbling at his earlobe just before she returned to his warm neck, sucking at the skin there in different places. Her stiff cold nipples were caressing Sandor’s chest through the dripping wet fabric of her nightgown every time she moved above him, making Sandor groan loudly

  He brought his hands to rest on her thighs as he jerked his hips upwards, rasping in a hoarse voice that could not hide the vulnerability behind his words, “What the fuck am I supposed to do without you today, Sansa?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, feeling Sandor’s hard need underneath her before pressed her body down onto it. Sansa claimed her husband’s mouth, already accepting the fact that she was going to be a little late, for all she wanted to do right now was lose herself in Sandor, and that is why she pulled her nightgown’s hem up to her waist _._

 _We can do this quick enough_ _after_ _all_ , she knew. And so they made love in the wooden tub, with Sansa trembling as she clung to her big man breathlessly, while Sandor held her tight to him in return, his rough calloused hands caressing her everywhere as he buried himself deep within her until they shook with the force of both of their releases.

  Afterwards, as Sandor leaned his back onto the edge of the wooden tub with his legs sprawled before him, cradling Sansa’s body on top of his, his arms holding her close while she leaned on his back, running her feet along the long length of the hairy legs beneath hers, Sansa closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest, feeling comforted and loved. Her husband was running his hand along her back, tracing patterns on her skin idly, his other arm thrown across her chest.

  “Did you remember what your nightmare was about, bird?” Sandor asked her after a time in his usual snarl, as he brought a handful of her loose hair to his nose and breathed in its scent, and making Sansa’s eyes fly open.

  She almost stifled a gasp as she remembered. Last night Sansa had woken up sobbing hours past midnight from a horrible nightmare she could not recall. Her heart had been beating madly in her chest as her big man comforted her, whispering soothing murmurs in her ears as he held her close, and waited until sleep claimed her again before going back to sleep himself.

  Raising her head and meeting Sandor’s eyes now, she answered, “No, I haven’t. I can’t remember, love.”

  But that was a lie. By the time she was breaking her fast a short while ago, vivid memories from her nightmare had come back to her, and she had almost choked on the bread as she recalled that it had been one of those weird dreams in which she was her brother’s direwolf.

  _Only this time I was not Shaggy but Lady,_ she recalled. Sansa had dreamed she was her wolf in those moments before her father cut her throat. She almost shivered now as she lay in her husband’s arms when she remembered the sharp painful coldness of the blade on her neck. _No, not_ my _neck. It was my Lady’s neck.  Is that what Father felt when Ser Ilyn chopped off his head?_ Sansa barely managed not to shiver then.

  “At least whatever haunted you last night didn’t turn out to be true,” Sandor pointed out with a smile, as the corner of his mouth began to twitch.  “Remember when you dreamed of the Onion and Edar and the others looking for us in the woods bare sodding moments before it happened?”

  Sansa remembered all too well. She gave a weak chuckle as she lowered her gaze to Sandor’s chest and the little drops of water there, wondering what she could say to steer the conversation away from the troubled and upsetting memories that were running through her mind, but when she met her husband’s grey eyes again, Sansa realized that Sandor knew she was holding something back from him by the way he was regarding her.

  For a moment, Sansa wondered if Sandor would pressure her into revealing the truth to him, but her big man did nothing but stare at her as he waited to see what she would decide to do, respecting whatever she chose.

  _I can’t tell him what is happening to me when I don’t even know myself. I would not even know where to start_ , Sansa reasoned, doubts still gnawing at her, hoping she was making the right decision of not speaking about her dreams to anyone just yet.

  “Have you ever had any nightmares?” she asked Sandor now, curiously. “You have never woken up in the middle of the night because of them so far, you know. That is a good sign.”

  Something shifted behind Sandor’s eyes, and his stare turned hard as he rasped, “I used to have nightmares all the time, little bird. About Gregor and the day he burned me, and about my sister breaking her beck after the fucker threw her down the stairs.”

  “Oh,” Sansa whispered, knowing instantly that there really wasn’t anything she could say right now to make Sandor feel better.

  So instead she silently raised her hand to her husband’s face so she could lightly trace his burns with her fingertips, thinking that even if Sandor was happy now, it could nonetheless still hurt that there had been a time when her love had probably needed to be comforted, but had never had anyone to help him cope with all the pain and loss in his life for years.

  “It happened a long time ago,” Sandor said dismissively, bringing his head down so that he could reach Sansa and kiss her as he cupped her face. “And don’t be sorry, bird. The only reason why I don’t have them anymore is because of you. It should bloody well be the same for you too, but instead-”

  Sansa did not let Sandor finish. _You can’t help me with this_ , _big man_ , she thought, as she placed two long fingers over Sandor’s scarred lips, shaking her head and whispering softly, “Hush. Please, let’s just stop talking about nightmares and dreams. It is upsetting us and we were so happy right now.”

  Sandor arched an eyebrow at that, weighing her, but nodded in agreement in the end, rasping, “As you wish.”

  A short time later, Sansa’s big man left her with Wynafryd Manderly at the courtyard that was nearest to the New Castle’s kitchens, parting from her with a curt nod and a wink when he was certain no one was watching him. Sansa watched Sandor stride away with a little regret, missing him terribly already.

“You look so lovely,” Sansa told Wyn, admiring her pink lambswool dress, as she remembered her courtesies and pried her eyes away from Sandor when he disappeared around a corner. The gown looked old, but had a beautiful pattern of dragonflies around the hem and the sleeves that reminded her of those she had worn long ago in the capital.

  “I will lend it to you any day that you wish,” the eldest of the Manderly sisters told her, smiling.

  Sansa could not help but laugh at that. “Oh Wyn, if only I was a little shorter I would hold you to your word, but it could never possibly fit me.”

  Not only was Sansa taller than either of the Manderly girls, but her bosom was larger too. That thought made her blush, and she rapidly lowered her eyes to her cleavage, making certain the top of her breasts were hidden. Lately, grown men had begun to look at her chest more than they had ever done whenever they were certain Sandor wasn’t looking. Even just the other day the stableboy had gaped at her as he helped her mount.

  “Thank you, Sansa,” her friend replied with a polite chuckle now. “But I am sure that something can be done. I will ask my seamstress to visit you and take your measurements before the week is over. I have known her since I was six years old. She also made me a linen shift and silken smallclothes along with this gown.”

  “Oh would you ask her, really?” Sansa exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I would be thankful for it. I would only need two new dresses, that is all. My old ones don’t fit me as well as they did some months ago.”

  “Well, you are still growing,” Wyn pointed out as they heard Wylla and Hagen laughing at some joke as they crossed the yard to meet them. “You are younger than my sister and Wylla’s body stopped changing only until last year. But as I am sure you can tell, my little sister is still a child in many other ways.”

  Sansa had to smile at that, as she confessed, “She reminds me a little of my sister Arya. She- Wylla isn’t as fierce as Arya was, but she doesn’t like playing bells or the high harp or writing poetry, and Arya loathed them. And of course, they are both fond of speaking their minds.”

  Wynafryd had a lovely voice, and when coaxed would play the woodharp and sing songs of chivalry and lost loves. And while Wylla could sew and dance and sing as well as Sansa, and knew how to dress beside, she loved riding more than anything else- unlike Sansa and Wyn.

  But despite their tastes, Sansa had had some of the best fun in her life with both sisters, and at times it was difficult to remember that they were older than her, since they both behaved in private like girls who had their heads full of songs and stories, and to the world like ladies who has responsibilities, cares and worries to busy themselves with every day.

  Still, it had been so long since Sansa had enjoyed the company of other women her age that she had almost forgotten how pleasant it could be. Frema had been her dearest friend after Jeyne Poole, but at least the Manderly sisters had taken Sansa into their company as if they had known her all their lives after their breakfast down at the Waterway Stairs.

  Whenever they were not attending their duties, Sansa and the Manderly girls spent afternoons doing needlework for the refugees living at the Old Mint as they talked over lemon cakes and honeyed wine, and had even played at tiles a one evening, and had even gone to sing at the grand building with the domed roof surmounted by tall statues of the Seven that was the Sept of Snow.

  _Yet the most important bit,_ Sansa remembered. _Is that they are good and true of heart, so unlike the ladies of King’s Landing_. They may be sweet and gentle unmarried maidens who had never seen a real battle before, but Wyn and Wylla had a strong resolution that would not easily _break_. Sansa had not known just how strong the women of the North could be until she came to White Harbour. _They are just as strong as me. Winter has made us so_.

  Wynafryd met her eyes at that, gulping momentarily before saying a low voice, “Don’t worry Sansa, you will get her back. Your sister is too valuable to the north for Ramsay Snow to kill her. She is surely waiting for the moment to be rescued right now in Winterfell.”

  Sansa nodded, growing silent. She had not told anyone but Sandor about her suspicions regarding the identity of the girl the Lannisters had sent north for Roose Bolton’s bastard to marry. _What if I tell Wyn about my hope that Arya was not meant to suffer that cruel fate only to have my hopes crashed if it really is my sister the young woman who is at Winterfell?_ And even if it was not Arya, all Ramsay Snow had to do was to wait for an heir before he could discard his wife.

  Even now, what Wynafryd had just said only served to plant more doubts in Sansa’s mind regarding the identity of the woman whom all believed to be Arya Stark. The little girl she had grown up with would never just sit patiently until someone came to rescue her. _She would kick and bite and scream even if they punished her for it_. But surely the Bastard of Bolton would not dare to hurt her sister before the men who had served as her father’s and Robb’s banner men but a short while ago?

  She could find no answers to those questions, for in that moment Hagen Edar and Wylla finally reached Sansa and Wynafryd, as their laughter died away.

  “What is so funny?” Wyn asked her younger sister, looking at Sansa’s sworn arrow and the girl.

  “Oh Wyn! Good morning, Sansa,” Wylla answered with a smile, giving the latter a curtsy. “Oh I am sorry, it’s just that Hagen here was just telling me about the night he met you and Lord Clegane! When his band of outlaws ambushed your caravan and Stranger saved the day- or rather the night- by kicking Hagen until an inch of his life! Isn’t that thrilling?”

  Sansa had to giggle as she remembered, and because the former outlaw’s eyes were twinkling as he started to chuckle again at the memory. Wynafryd however looked a little startled, but recovered herself quickly enough, turning to Sansa as she said by way of apology, “I am afraid Wylla has always been a willful child.”

  “It’s all right,” Sansa assured the eldest sister, smoothing her skirts, exchanging a look with Hagen.

  “What were you and Lady Sansa talking about?” Wylla asked, tucking a strand of loose hair back into her garnish green braid.

  “About Winterfell, and-” Wyn began to answer, before Wylla took Sansa’s arm and started leading her away, towards the gates.

  “Oh, you must be so excited at the prospect of seeing Winterfell again- despite what that filthy bastard and his monsters must have done to it by now. Not that it won’t be anything that can’t be fixed once the war is over of course. We must ask the gods for that mercy.”

  “I feel overwhelmed every time I imagine how it will be when I set eyes on it again,” Sansa confessed, picturing her home as she had last seen it on the day she left south with King Robert’s company.

  “I really do wish me and Wyn could go with you,” Wylla confided, squeezing Sansa’s arm. “But our place is here, and Grandfather would have a fit if we got within twenty miles of a battlefield, and if he learned that we abandoned our duties here to go meet him at Winterfell.”

  “I understand, don’t worry about it,” Sansa assured her friend, smiling as she remembered that her big man had looked when she made it quite clear to him that she was not going to stay behind in White Harbour and wait for him and Stannis Baratheon to defeat their enemies before she could set out for Winterfell.

  “When this war is over,” Sansa told Wylla now. “I hope you and your sister can come to Winterfell for a long visit and I can repay you a little for all the unfailing kindnesses you have shown me and my family in these times.”

  “Do not expect anything less from us, Sansa,” Wynafryd told her, catching up with her and her sibling. “The people of White Harbour are lawful and loyal, and you are our liege lady after fierce little Lord Rickon after all. Oh forgive me for the change of conversation, but I think it would be best I think if we go to the kitchens for the baskets before we leave for the Old Mint.”

  Sansa and Wylla nodded in agreement. After their trip to the kitchens they finally left the proud and pale New Castle behind them upon its hill, before heading over to the Castle Stair and the city below. They all had blankets of food and provisions hanging from their arms, and were being flanked by five guards with the badge of House Manderly upon their breasts, as well as with Hagen Edar, who was walking so close to his liege lady that Sansa could hear the soft thumping of his quarrel against his hip every time they descended a step. 

  When they reached the top of the broad white stoneway or street with steps that was the Castle Stair, and which led all the way from the Wolf’s Den over by the water to the New Castle on its hill, Sansa peered across the horizon as Wynafryd went to take a seat on one of the marble mermaids with bowls of burning whale oil cradled in their arms that were only lit up every night after dusk descended on the world, so that she could remove some pebbles from her shoe.

  Looking across the city, Sansa let her eyes travel towards the distant ocean and the ships anchored in White Harbour’s harbour, which was divided into the Inner and Outer, noticing how the merman of House Manderly was everywhere in evidence, flying from the towers of the New Castle, above the Seal Gate, and along the city walls. _The direwolf of Stark will fly beside the merman as soon as we ride out for Winterfell, proclaiming our purpose to the world_.

  The Outer Harbour was larger and could hold a score of ships, but the Inner Harbour had a better anchorage and was sheltered by the City Wall on one side and the looming mass of the Wolf's Den on another, and a mile-long, thirty foot wall, with towers every hundred yards, located on the jetty that separated it from the Outer Harbor.

  Sansa and her big man had mostly visited the Harbour only to make sure that the war galleys Lord Manderly had concealed behind the thick white walls of the Harbour, and which were supposedly only just waiting for a command to be put to sea, were really in a good state after they had made their way along the swarming wharf and docksides, as well as through the crowded fish market, staring at the ships as they took on different provisions, or at foreign sailors throwing dice as fishwives cried the day’s catch.

  There was always a clutter of small boats tied up along the fish market, off-loading their catches, as well as seagoing vessels and a shabby old bear that would dance in a circle for a ring of river runners as a little boy that appeared to be Rickon’s age, played in time on a drum.

  Sandor had been interested in looking at the places where the scorpions and spitfires behind the standing stones of the jetty walls had been placed, in order to advise Ser Marlon Manderly where they might be changed the scorpions and spitfires be changed to for a better defence if the need arose, but had agreed to take her to see the seals that liked to bask on the broken rocks below Sea Rock too.

  The wind flapped up at the girls’ skirts as they walked down the streets of White Harbour after Wynafryd had fixed her shoes, biting at their legs with cold teeth. Sansa looked left and right as she always did, taking in the details of the place, like the way the houses were all built of whitewashed stone with steeply pitched roofs of dark grey slate.

  Sansa was rapidly growing quite fond of this place. White Harbour had been the first city she had ever seen when she was little as she accompanied her father to visit Lord Wyman, and though it was small compared to King’s Landing or Pentos or Norvos or Braavos, it was clean and well-ordered, and the people here loved her and Rickon. They would always call out their names as they passed by, and would even hold up their children for a startled Rickon’s blessing, going to one knee, many with tears in their eyes as they kept on muttering, “They’re alive! There is still hope for the North.”

  Soon enough they reached the cobbled square that had a fountain at its centre, and which the locals had named Fishfoot Yard. It was just outside the Seal Gate, in the middle of five alleys heading in different directions- four of which Sansa knew she shouldn’t stray over to, since one lead to a brothel, one to a mummer’s hall were bawdy entertainments could be had for a few pennies, and the other two led to an alehouse and an infamous inn, which Sansa knew Edar and Lord Davos liked to visit since they served tasty lamprey pies.

  Inside the Yard there was a cobbled square with a fountain at its center. The fountain had a stone merman rising from its waters, twenty feet tall from tail to crown. His curly beard was green and white with lichen, and one of the prongs of his trident had broken off many years ago, yet somehow he was still quite to impressing.

  The Yard was teeming this afternoon. A woman was washing her small-clothes in Fishfoot’s fountain and hanging them off his trident to dry. Beneath the arches of the peddler’s colonnade the scribes and money changers had set up for business, along with a hedge wizard, an herb woman, and a very bad juggler.

  There was also a man was selling apples from a barrow, and a woman was offering herring with chopped onions. Chickens and children were everywhere underfoot, and they all stopped what they were doing as soon as they caught sight of the Manderly sisters and Sansa.

  “Old Fishfoot is the name the locals know it by,” Wylla had informed her when Sansa had first visited the Old Mint.

  Their party strolled across the yard around Old Fishfoot, past where a young girl was selling cups of fresh milk from her nanny goat. Down past where Old Fishfoot’s trident pointed was an alley where they sold fried cod, crisp and golden brown outside and flaky white within, Hagen was kind enough to inform her.

  “I am not hungry, but you can go get one if you like while we pray,” Sansa told her sworn arrow with what she could only hope did not look like a very poor attempt at a smile.

  “Oh no, I don’t fancy it right now,” Edar assured her after he had allowed his gaze to rest on her till the moment where a slightly concerned frown appeared on his forehead. Mercifully though he said nothing if he had indeed seen anything at all.

  They went down a flight of stairs after that, and reached the Old Mint at long last. The building that was the Old Mint had long been in disuse, but had become a sort of refuge shelter from the war for those who had no other place to live, mostly compromised of smallfolk from up the White Knife, and Hornwood, who had no more than rags on their backs.

  What little help Sansa, Wynafryd or Wylla could give them was simple sturdy food so as to not starve to death, or to give the boys that stood five feet tall or more place in the New Castle’s barracks, as well as advice to the girls who had no notion as to how would they survive another day.

  “M’ladies!” most of them started to call at once when the party was spotted. Shouts of “Lady Wylla” “Lady Wynafryd” and “Lady Sansa” or “Lady Stark” wrenched the air as the girls went on giving the poor alms, or a couple of golden dragons and silver stags, and even some meat pies, as the people thanked them and asked the gods to bless them.

  Sansa could not help but let out a sigh as she wondered fleetingly if the people of the North would ever come to think of her as Lady Clegane. Even if it was really not that rare for a highborn lady to be addressed by her maiden name, since Queen Cersei, Elia Martell and Margery Tyrell were almost never referred to by their married surnames, Sansa at times wished she could just be known as her big man’s wife to the world.

  She was still silently wondering about this when her eyes were caught by an old man who was sitting on the floor, resting his back on the wall of a building by a gutter. Even from a distance it was easy to see that he was badly wounded on the leg, and yet none of the people passing by him were paying him the briefest of glances.

  “Oh Hagen, look,” Sansa said, nudging her friend in the ribs with her elbow to attract his attention. “We have to help him. Isn’t he hurt?”

  Before Edar could answer her, Sansa was already making her way through the crowd of women and children around her and the Manderly sisters. When Sansa finally reached the old man and had quickly gone to her knees on the street, her breath caught in her throat, since the sight of the old man’s leg shocked her speechless. The flesh of part of the old man’s thigh was cracked and red, with flies flying over the crusted blood on the wound.

  “What happened?” she murmured, feeling dizzy as the horrible reeking stench of the gutters hit her.

  Sansa stared at the wound for a moment before meeting the man’s eyes, which were already weighing her with a hard look. Coarse grey stubble covered his cheeks and chin, and he had a lumpy nose and black eyes.

  “Sansa,” Hagen suddenly exclaimed beside her, as she tried to stand up, staggering slightly. “Are you all right? Would you like to seat down?”

  “No,” she answered at once, nodding and holding on to her sworn arrow’s arm for support for a moment. “No, I am all right, but Hagen, please help this poor man. Tell- tell the guards to take him inside the Old Mint. His leg ought to have been treated and looked after long ago.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take a seat? You are just as pale as a sheet,” her Lorathi friend and protector observed.

  “It was just the smells,” she said, gathering herself as she felt the dizziness left her.

  Hagen looked as if he was about to protest further, but ended up nodding curtly and calling to the guards to help the poor old man. When Sansa saw them carrying him away, she was feeling as good as she’d felt before this little incident happened. Sansa joined Wylla and Wynafrd, who had not seen what had just occurred, speaking with a couple of the mothers who were asking them something.

  By the time the gathering crowd allowed them all to move to the front doors of their destination, a pair of wiry strong silent sisters opened the huge oak-and-iron doors of the Old Mint, revealing hundreds of women, children, and old men, huddled on the floor on piles of furs with little cook fires going. Sansa straightened her shoulders, donned a smile on her face and stepped inside, ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :D Your comments make my days better, so if you feel like it, please review (;


	48. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> * Onborrowedwings is the great beta that helps me out with this fic. She always does a fabolous job and for that I thank her!! :D   
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.
> 
> *I would like to dedicate this chapter to Moonlight Sonata Muse!! :D

  Today was the coldest day in White Harbour since they had arrived at the city. Though the New Castle was protected from the worst of the northern winter winds by the towers that encircled it, Sansa had closed the windows and made sure there was a fire roaring fiercely in the hearth that would keep even the tiniest cold breeze away. She had woken up with a terrible headache this morning, but by the time the seamstress had arrived she was feeling much better. 

  It was a good thing that on the day of the appointment for her fitting, almost everyone at the New Castle was staying indoors due to the weather. _Well, almost everyone_. Sandor, Lord Davos and Osha had gone to see Rickon and Hagen train at the archery butts. Sansa would have joined them had she not been previously engaged, since she wanted to see for herself how much Rickon was truly improving in the lessons he had at sword, daggers, bow and arrow. 

  But still, Sansa could not say that she was completely sorry she was missing being out in the cold watching men train, for it was something she had seen daily for many years. And besides, overseeing the preparations for the journey back home to Winterfell had been taking most of Sansa’s time of late. Between making sure that the necessary food provisions and clothing were assembled for not only her pack, but the escort of soldiers that would escort her, Sandor, Rickon and the others across war and winter as well; visiting the people down at the Old Mint; and performing her duties as Lady Stark and Rickon’s regent of sorts, Sansa had been grateful for this day of leisure in which she could rest a little and gain back her strength.

  _I have been feeling so tired lately_. Not that she had let anyone notice it. But still, maybe doing this fitting- an event she had always immensely enjoyed- was the reason for her being in such good spirits today.

  “Please lift up your arm, my lady,” the dressmaker asked her, as she took the measurements for her right arm with a length of knotted string.

  Sansa did as she was told, sighing happily as her mind drifted off to the day when she would be wearing this new dress she had commissioned for the first time. The grey and white long dagged sleeved lambswool gown trimmed with lace and silver buttons the seamstress was measuring her for right now was what she would wear on the day she arrived at Winterfell, in honour of the colours of her house. _I do hope people will like it_. She could picture it all so well in her mind. From the way her home would look once it was rid of the Boltons and their allies, to the way she would fall to her knees, speechless and overwhelmed, tears of joy streaming down her face at the sight of Winterfell before her.

  During her journeys in the east, Sansa had learned not to mind wearing what she would have once considered to be shabby gowns, but in the last weeks, as she visited the Old Mint, she had understood that the people of the north would feel more comfortable with her if she dressed more plainly whenever she was around them.  Her currents dresses were pretty, but now that she was back in the north Sansa had to remember certain aspects of what being a Stark meant, and she could not very well appear before Stannis Baratheon or her father’s bannermen looking anything but the northern princess that she was. _I also_ _have to make Robb and mother and the others proud, and honour the Starks, and the Tullys too; Even little Rickon, though he doesn’t know it yet, and could not care less if the whole world suddenly decided to dress like wildlings_.

  And Sansa not only needed new gowns, but smallclothes, hoses, kirtles, undersilks, mantles, nightgowns, cloaks, and shifts too. It wasn’t only because of the upcoming journey that Sansa needed this new wardrobe. She had grown two inches in the past months, but her body was changing as well, and not only in stature. Sansa could have sworn that the gowns she had bought back in Lorath felt a little tighter of late, and not only did her breasts at times feel sore, but she also had trouble catching her breath. _But that is probably because Joselyn always laces me up so tightly_.

  She had dismissed her previous maid Maddy, disliking having that woman near Sandor after the talk Sansa had heard by the wells of one of the New Castle’s courtyards about Maddy’s way with men, which had secretly caused her a little unease, and had made her wonder about the women she supposed her husband must have been with before her. Sansa had giggled at that, imagining the sight of Sandor’s face if she were to ask him about them.

  _Maybe one day I_ _will_ , she’d thought, realizing that she wasn’t upset by the thought. Still, even if she trusted her big man, Sansa did not trusted Maddy anymore, therefore now she had Joselyn attending her, rather than Maddy.

  The dressmaker went to one knee before her, measuring her hips now, startling Sansa out of her thoughts as she said, “You will look so beautiful in this dress, Lady Stark.”

  Sansa smiled. “I am certain it will be wonderful. I can’t wait to see it. But are you sure you will be able to find enough freshwater pearls to sew in both the bodice and the sleeves? It will be all right if you do not, really.”

  “I most certainly will, my lady,” the woman assured her. “I hope that the gown pleases anyone who sees it- you most of all- so that when the war and the winter are but a memory, your ladyship may remember me and commission your new gowns from none other than myself.”

  “If the gods are good and we all live that long, then you have my promise,” Sansa kindly guaranteed her, telling herself to remember to thank Wyn and Wylla for their thoughtfulness in lending her the services of the best seamstress in White Harbour. _Those girls are too good to me_.

  “Thank you, Lady Sansa,” the dressmaker said, measuring the inside of her legs. “That was the last measurement.”

  “What? Are we done?” Sansa asked, surprised.

  It had been so very long since she was measured for a dress that she had forgotten how much she enjoyed the process. It was a pity that it was now over.

  “We are. I will make certain to have this gown ready for when you leave the city, my lady. Here, let me help you out of that.”

  Sansa towered over the woman as the seamstress removed the pieces of clothing she had put on her to give her an idea of what kind of design the gown should have, until Sansa was left standing in her pale blue long loose underskirts and lilac corset.

  She thanked the dressmaker kindly for her time as she playfully grabbed a cloth of silver sash that was used to belt a dress, placing it around her shoulders like one would a scarf. Then she walked across the bedroom in pointed slippers of soft velvet, pretty and warm, and went to sit by the wooden table in the room, singing absentmindedly. Sansa smiled as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, regarding the way several angles of her nose, jaw line and cheekbones looked if she turned her head to different directions.

  _I look so_ _beautiful_ , she thought joyously, reaching out for her brush so that she could start curling her hair. Her eyes fell on the surface of the table before her, and she smiled. There were papers, quills, ink, The Seven-Pointed Star, and little bottles before her, but there, over by the corner, was the baby pearl comb that Sansa’s big man had given her back when they were living in Old Hrolf’s castle by the Bay of Lorath.

  Recalling the day when Sandor had given her this gift, and the life they had known back in the east, she grabbed the comb and placed it in her hair, admiring how it looked there. She wanted to look nice for her husband.

  “If you’ll excuse me, my lady,” the seamstress said behind Sansa, giving her a curtsy after she had gathered up her things.

  “Thank you again for your time and your services,” Sansa told her, nodding. “I can’t wait to see my gown.”

  “I thank you, Lady Sansa. Good day,” the woman replied, opening the door and taking her leave.

  Placing her brush on the table, Sansa grabbed the little green bottle with the rosewater and jasmine water so she could dab some of it on her wrists, behind her ears, on her neck, and on her chest. But when she brought her hand to her face so she could smell the scent she loved so much, Sansa ended up wrinkling her nose at it in distaste.

  _How odd_ , she thought, shrugging just as she heard voices coming from the hallway outside her door, followed by rasping laugher. _Sandor_ , Sansa knew, fidgeting with her auburn hair at once, and smoothing down her skirts.

  “Well, maybe they were drunk?” a man’s voice that Sansa recognized as that of The Onion Knight said right outside her bedroom, as she became aware of the fast beating of her heart at the prospect of seeing her big man.

  Sandor laughed again, the rough sound sending a thrill through Sansa, before he snarled, “Drunk on rain? They don’t have enough coin to buy a cup of wine, Seaworth.”

  Sansa stood up quickly, feeling dizzy for the blink of an eye due to the swift motion, before it was gone, as quick as it had come. She was about to call out, “Who is it?” when Sandor opened the bedroom’s door without knocking.

  Their gazes locked at once, before Sandor’s grey eyes left her face, roaming over her body, as she stood in the middle of the room in her corset and skirts. The sight of Sandor on the threshold made Sansa’s heart beat even faster. He was plainly garbed, wearing his old boots, brown lambswool breeches, a sheepskin jerkin, a thick quilted woollen coat and a dark blue tunic. For a moment she did not even know what to say, so rather than speaking, she looked at her big man with a wide beaming smile.

  Her husband however, didn’t return the gesture. After the first startled brief moments of finding her before him without a gown, Sandor’s mouth began to twitch. Frowning, Sansa was about to ask what was the matter when her eyes widened in surprise as she saw that Lord Davos had no idea he was walking into the room while she was partially undressed.

  It all happened very fast then. Sansa stood rooted to the spot for a heartbeat, as Davos managed to get the briefest of glances of her before he stopped still beside Sandor, commenting, “Well no, but there are other ways a man can get drunk that do not involve necessarily any coin, Clegane. I’ll wager that-” before he stopped abruptly, completely shocked.

  Sansa’s big man elbowed Seaworth out of the way a moment later, rasping a curse, and closed the door in the blink of an eye right in the former smuggler’s face, nearly missing knocking him backwards with the force of the push.

  “Seven bleeding thrice damned hells!” Sandor roared, jealously looking over at her as he loudly barred the door behind him. “Bugger, what the fuck do you think you are doing standing there like that, little bird?”

  _Oh gods_ , Sansa thought, covering her mouth as she realized that she was about to burst into giggles. _This isn’t funny, Sansa Stark! It’s so embarrassing_.

  “Hush,” she finally managed to say, with a wry smile. “You should have knocked, Sandor. How was I supposed to know that you were intending on letting him enter our bedroom?”

  “I was just going to give him the map you showed me last night so he could give it to Hagen,” Sandor said in defence, scowling as he glanced down at her. His eyes regarded her from head to foot again, before he asked, “Why are you still dressed like that? I didn’t know taking your measurements would take so bloody long.”

  “Oh, my fitting is finished,” Sansa explained. “You just missed the dressmaker. I was actually just getting ready to go out in search of you. I still have to choose what dress I will wear today, but how do I look so far?”

  “You well know the answer to that, my bird,” Sandor rasped, unbuckling his swordbelt and placing it on the chair beside the door, his rough voice hoarse with awe. “Beautiful. Is that the comb I gave you?”

  “Yes it is,” she answered, nodding and feeling quite pleased with herself as she giggled not only because of her husband’s words but because of the rumble in his throat.

  When her big man was standing before her and was about to reach out for her, Sansa, feeling playful, suddenly turned around and walked away, deciding she wanted to tease him a little as a way of paying him back for the embarrassing incident that had just occurred.

  “Oh look dearest, let me show you the designs I chose for my new dress,” she told Sandor, grabbing a pair of little white and grey strands of fabric that the seamstress had brought her to see if the colours were to her liking.

  She shook them out and showed them to Sandor, who walked over to stand beside her with an expression that showed he did not care one bit about her gowns’ designs.

  Shrugging and towering over her, Sandor said, “They look like every other piece of fabric in the colours of House Stark.”

  _No they don’t_ , Sansa thought, frowning briefly. She composed her features quickly though, and said in a light tone, “I suppose that is good then. I hope you like them though, for I had a velvet doublet, and an ermine mantle of the same fabric and colours sent to be made for you.”

  Sandor could not have looked more surprised had Aegon the Conqueror suddenly burst through the window, riding on his dragon.

  “What?” he spat, with wide eyes. “Why?”

  “Well, as my husband and Lord Clegane, I thought it would be nice if our clothing matched when we are brought before Stannis,” she lied, highly amused by the sight of Sandor’s face. “But don’t worry. I know you don’t like to dress too elaborately, so I asked the seamstress to not add any little dog designs in silver thread at the hem and collar of your tunic. Though on second thought, maybe you would have liked your clothes to be in the colours of House Clegane?”

  “You have to be fucking kidding me, Sansa,” Sandor said in a rough whisper, staring with something akin to horror at her. “I’ll be damned before I wear that.”

  “But Sandor, you have not even seen it!”

  “I don’t need to see it, Sansa. I won’t-”

  Sansa burst into giggles, reaching out to touch Sandor’s arm, as she said, “Oh, I am sorry. Of course I didn’t have anything made for you. I was just teasing you for letting Davos see me like this.”

  Looking thoroughly relieved, Sandor let out a sigh and a weak laugh, before shaking his head and raising an eyebrow as he growled, “Teasing me, is that the way of it? Be careful, little bird. You don’t want to tempt me. I ought to call the Onion back in here just for this little joke of yours.”

  Sansa threw back her head and laughed until she felt her tummy starting to ache as Sandor drew her closer to him after he had placed his hands on her waist.

  “Oh my big, angry, man, if you did that I don’t think I would ever speak to you again. And I wonder what would you do _then_ ,” she teased in mock submission, before Sandor covered her mouth with his as he caught her bottom lip between his teeth playfully.

  When they drew apart, Sandor, pressing his forehead to hers, grunted, “All right. I won’t call for Seaworth. Might be though that I would still like to make you pay for the joke nonetheless, bird. So what would you do if I did this? Would you like that?”

  Sandor let go of her waist, only to lower his eyes to her heaving flushed chest, as he reached out to tug at the ribbon at the front of her corset, between her breasts. The mere fleeting graze of his warm touch there left Sansa feeling overwhelmed. 

  “I would love that more than anything,” she finally answered softly, pulling up Sandor’s tunic so she could caress the skin underneath.

  A flush crept up Sansa’s neck as Sandor swiftly removed his sheepskin jerkin, and she felt as if she would easily drown in the grey pools of her big man’s eyes once his scarred mouth began to twitch.

  Standing on her toes so that she could run her fingers through her husband’s dark hair, Sansa kissed the corner of Sandor’s mouth until the twitching stopped. That little gesture was enough to make Sandor grunt, and when Sansa opened her eyes to take a quick peek at her big man’s face, she found him already doing that himself, staring at her with eyes darkened with desire. _The way mine must be by_ _now_.

  Registering Sandor’s hardness against her belly after some moments, Sansa moved her hand between them so that she could cup her hand around him, before she began to fumble with the laces of his breeches until they came loose. Sandor groaned helplessly through gritted teeth as she finally wrapped her hand around his hard warm length, not even a little bit embarrassed at her boldness by now. She began to stroke him slowly, before her big man suddenly caught her hand, and holding it tightly, they increased the movement of their wrists, while Sandor slid his other hand down her belly to her lady parts, making her legs go weak with desire for him.

  By the time they had reached the bed, their heavy breaths and the fire in the hearth were the only sounds disturbing the silence that had descended on the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed while Sandor took off his tunic as he stood before her, between her legs. Sansa, who was still wearing her lilac corset and underskirts, reached out to grab her big man’s backside with her hands. He was still wearing his breeches, and though he was narrow of waist, it was difficult for her to pull them down.

  Moments later, Sandor cupped Sansa’s face and kissed her hard as he moved towards the bed, placing his knees on either side of her, his manhood pressed tightly between them. Sansa slid her tongue over Sandor’s lip as he gently sucked on her own, and arched her back, needing to feel her breasts pushed up against Sandor’s powerful chest in these moments where her whole body felt as if it was on fire.

  She dipped her head back when Sandor released her mouth so that he could kiss her neck and the hollow of her throat, her chest still heaving quickly up and down. Sandor and Sansa became a jumble of limbs as the mattress underneath them sank under their heavy weight once they fell on the bed, sprawled across it, with the furs they used to keep warm at night cushioning the fall. Her big man towered over her with his hulking form, and all Sansa could do was caress the magnificent muscled nearly seven-footer body that was Sandor, from his wide shoulders and the shoulder blades at his back, to his legs.

  “Bugger this! Little bird, I can’t take this thing off of you,” he groaned loudly against her ear when he failed yet again in unlacing her corset with his fumbling big hands.

  “Then leave it,” she urged him in a hoarse whisper, hoping she would remember to tell Joselyn not to lace her up so tightly again, and fearing Sandor would rip apart her beautiful corset, as her heart threatened to burst inside her chest with excitement.

  Sandor abandoned her corset, and a loud moan of pleasure escaped Sansa’s mouth when her big man pushed her skirts up and tore her smallclothes in two, ripping them away to lay discarded on a white puddle on the ground. She was glad when Sandor kissed her after that, mindful that someone could hear them if they were too loud. 

  “Wait,” she managed to cry out, though her words came out as a moan, while she felt Sandor moving between her legs as he left her mouth.

  Sandor stopped, meeting her eyes and exhaling raggedly. Propping herself up on her elbows, Sansa let her big man know that she wanted to change positions. She quickly turned around, showing her husband her back as she knelt on all fours on the bed. Sansa heard a groan of pleasure escape her big man then, and felt him placing one hand on her hip as he knelt behind her, lifting her skirts up and placing them around her waist with the other hand before moving it to her back, bending her down towards the bed. Her blue eyes fell on the headboard some distance away, and Sansa wished fleetingly she could have something to hold on to for support as Sandor took her from behind heartbeats later.

  _We are one_ , Sansa thought then, and her words were only confirmed when they breathed in and exhaled together in the exact same moment, when Sandor’s length was at last completely inside her. _And will be_ _forever_.

 

**

 

  It was warm under the furs. Sandor was resting on the bed, his long legs entwined with Sansa’s, as he propped himself upwards with one elbow as he stared down at the little bird before him in silence, admiring her. Sansa’s bare back was to him, the furs covering her up to the waist, revealing her breasts, back and arms to him as she stared in front of her at the fire that was still burning in the hearth across the bedroom.

  The little bird had taken off that bleeding buggering corset and her skirts after they were done fucking the first time, but Sansa had asked him to hand her the shift she had left on the arm of a chair near the bed when he had stood up to clean himself after they were done the second time. Sandor had brought his bird a wet cloth and washed her from her head to toe, forgetting her shift in his haste to get under the furs of the bed again with Sansa.

  Sandor was currently tracing light patterns on his little wife’s soft flushed skin with his large hand, grazing his knuckles and his fingertips from Sansa’s face to her neck; from her shoulder blades to her back; and from her breasts to her waist, occasionally swiping away from her eyes the auburn hair that kept on hiding her beautiful face from him as he went on admiring her.

  Admiring her beauty and the way she proved to him how much she loved him every bloody day and night, whether it was with one of her shy glances, her warm smiles or polite chirping, her daring touches, her words and actions and behaviour to him when others were around, or by the passionate deep intimacy she sought to find with him whenever they fucked, as she urged him on while he thrust hard and deep.

  _Everything_ she did was worth not only his, but the whole world’s admiration, Sandor gathered, and he was sure no one could understand just how thankful he was that he no longer had to restrain himself around Sansa the way he had done for so long until their first wedding back in Braavos about three and a half months ago.

  Sandor’s mind strayed off at some point to the past, and the first months he had known the little bird, back in King’s Landing after first seeing her in Winterfell when Robert went up north to make Ned Stark his Hand. It was hard to believe at times that the girl he had frightened so easily and readily all the way down the Kingsroad, and to whom he had confessed the truth about his scars had become the woman lying before him, his wife, and by her own free will and choosing.

  _The little bird that survived the lions, and saved me along the way_. He did not even care to think about what both of them would be doing now had Sansa not agreed to flee the capital during the battle of Blackwater.

  _Seven_ _hells, why do moments like this never last?_ Sandor wondered for the hundredth time since he had fallen for the little bird. _This morning I was freezing my balls off in the archery butts, and now I don’t think I can even remember what it is like to be cold_. The warmth of Sansa’s body threatened to consume him in moments such as these.  _My northern she-wolf_. There was nothing but her and him right now, and the world could go bugger itself with a hot poker and it would be no hair off his arse.

  His eyes fell on the fire before them as the little bird’s soft breathing went on lulling him into this serene soothing peace that had settled between them. Sandor would stare at the fire from time to time, the way one did a fucking enemy, knowing in the back of his mind that if the moment ever came for him to choose, he would burn again before he allowed any harm to come to Sansa. Coming from him that meant everything. The bleeding septons could preach about the seven hells, but only a man who’s been burned knew what hell was truly like. And Sandor was willing to go there for Sansa.

  _That’s how much I have buggeringly allowed myself to need_ _her_ , Sandor thought as he bent down to kiss the back of his wife’s neck after moving her hair out of the way. But Sandor knew, even then, that he would never change anything that had happened between them if given the chance- that he was grateful for the way things had turned out between him and the little bird so far. My _little bird_.  He closed his eyes.

  “I love the way you love me,” Sansa suddenly whispered softly, as Sandor let his scarred lips linger on her white skin.

  Surprised, Sandor raised his head and regarded the little bird silently as she shifted on the mattress and tilted her neck backwards so that she could meet his gaze. She did that with a tired sleepy smile, and the sight of her flushed face then was just too much for Sandor.

  He bent his head down again, only this time it was Sansa’s forehead that he kissed, just before he rasped, “Do you, little bird?”

  “Yes, I do” Sansa answered, raising her hand up to his face so that she could hold back the hair that was falling across his burns.

  The way she had come to look at his face without anything but love- on the twisted mass of scar, slick black dead flesh that was hard as leather and pocked with red craters and fissured by deep cracks- had Sandor throwing a protective arm around Sansa, as he grunted, “Kiss me.”

  Before she could even answer him, Sandor claimed his wife’s warm full soft lips, parting her mouth with his tongue, which was enough to drive any man in his right mind mad. They kissed until they lost track of time, and afterwards, the little bird started chirping about how excited she was to finally be going home to Winterfell, recalling memories from her childhood there that Sandor hadn’t yet heard.

  _I could stay here listening to the excitement in her voice till I die, I’d wager_ , Sandor thought, snorting in amusement at the things Sansa told him about her past, and how her brothers and her sister would ambush her in some way whenever they were playing. Sandor didn’t get the chance to see if he would win the bet, since by the time Sansa was done talking, rather than staying in bed with him, his wife reached out to don her loose shift, giving him a smile before she stood up from the edge of the bed and reached out to drape a necklace the Manderly sisters had given her. Then Sansa hugged herself and went over to stand before the window.

 

***

 

  _How is it possible for anyone to feel this good? To be this happy?_ Sansa wondered, as she stood before the window, hugging herself due to the cold weather that was starting to creep inside the bedroom, still relishing the memory of the release she and Sandor had sought in the other as they made love. It was in times like this that Sansa remembered that in a way, all the pain she and Sandor had endured since their time in King’s Landing had been worth it if they could now be together like this, and enjoy life with the other.

  “I love the way you love me,” Sansa had told her big man, hoping her husband could see through her eyes how much she cared for him. How readily she would give up everything in the world in order to avoid losing him. 

  Sansa stared at the view before her. From the windows she could see the streets of White Harbour beyond the castle walls, and even the harbours. In the midst of a war, Sansa would never have expected that she would love the days in this city so much. But she had so far.Through the window, White Harbour’s walls of whitewashed stone rose below her, on the eastern shore where the White Knife plunged into the firth. Some of the city’s defences had been strengthened lately, Sansa noticed with a feeling akin to pride.

  That was Sandor’s doing, since he had insisted upon it to Ser Marlon Manderly, Wynafryd and Wylla’s uncle. The jetty that divided the inner and outer harbours had also been fortified with a long stone wall, thirty feet tall and almost a mile long, with towers every hundred yards. Sansa was staring at the smoke that was rising from Seal Rock by the time Sandor joined her at the window, standing behind her as he wrapped his muscled arms around her, pressing her body to his, his face buried in the crook of her neck. Sansa’s heart felt as if it was about to burst.

  _Burst with happiness and joy and love_.  In the back of her mind though, she knew that these carefree moments alone with her big man would not last forever, since once they left the safety of the city and struck for Winterfell, it would be hard to find times when they could fool around like this. These moments were of the sort she would have to treasure for a long while in the upcoming months, since she would no longer be able to forget the war a fortnight from now.

  Sansa almost told Sandor then that she loved him until she remembered that she’d already done so after they had made love but a short while ago for the second time, when he strode over to her, encircling her from behind with his arms.

  “I feel like I am in a dream,” Sansa confessed instead, resting her arms on the hairy ones Sandor had wrapped around her, her hands on his as she leaned back, letting Sandor support her weight.

  They could lose themselves in this world that was as real to them as the love they bore for one another, but which they must leave as soon as they walked out of this bedroom tonight for dinner, then it would fade away to a memory until they won over their enemies. That thought made Sansa’s straight her back in steely strong determination to be sure she and her pack survived not only the war but the long winter as well.

  Sandor’s answer was a grunt of agreement, before he began to nip at the skin of her neck and shoulder blade. Sansa smiled at that, feeling her tummy rumbling in protest. She was hungry.

  “We should ask for some food to be sent up here,” she remarked, running her fingers across Sandor’s hands.

  “Hungry, are you?” her big man growled, lifting his burned face as he released her from his arms, swiftly kissing her cheek.

  Sansa went to relieve herself as Sandor pulled on his breeches, and donned a loose tunic, before walking outside to the hallway to instruct a servant to bring them some food. When both of them were done, and Sansa had fed the fire, not wishing to wait for the servants to do so, she returned to the window, and when her eyes fell on a great galley that was leaving the port, sailing for The Bite, she exclaimed suddenly, “Oh Sandor, let’s play a game!”

  “I could think of something better to do with our time,” Sansa’s husband snarled, making her shake her head, amused. _Again? Oh my..._

  Quickly, Sansa turned around to face her big man, saying in a pleading tone she hoped would convince Sandor, “Oh, let’s play! Wylla and Wyn taught it to me.”

  “Little bird, I don’t want to-” Sandor began, joining her once again by the window.

  “Please,” she said, blinking up at her big man as she stood before him. “Please big man.”

  Sandor sighed in resignation after a moment, asking while he brushed her cheekbone with his thumb, “What’s the game about, bird?”

  Beaming, Sansa turned around, facing the window again, as she raised her arm to point towards the harbour. “Let’s invent a story about where every ship at the port is going to, and why. I’ll start. You see that big merchant galley that is just leaving? Yes? Well, that one is going to Dorne, and it’s carrying silk, and it’s supposed to bring back wine in exchange.”

  Snorting, Sandor rested his chin on her shoulder while he asked, “Why Dorne?”

  “Because it’s beautiful and warm down there,” Sansa sighed. “The perfect place to wait out the winter. At least in the Seven Kingdoms.”

  “I’ve met some Dornishmen who were not so beautiful or warm, little bird,” Sandor told her, biting her shoulder.

  _He is going to leave a mark there_ , Sansa thought, a little alarmed, blushing as she imagined what her maids would say about that.

  “Sandor, stop that and don’t ruin the game,” she told her husband. “It is your turn. What about that one there?”

  Giving a loud resigned grunt, Sandor raised his head and stared at the view before them, finally grunting, “The one with the red sails is going to Volantis.”

  “Why?” she asked curiously.

  “Because Hagen told me and Rickon this morning. The Manderlys need provisions and with Littlefinger ruling the Vale, Essos is the only place where they can get some of the supplies that are growing scarce.”

  Sansa was pleased to hear this, yet nonetheless, this was supposed to be a game, and her big man was just answering what he knew was the truth. So she elbowed him, saying in protest, “Sandor, that’s not how the game works. You are not supposed to just blurt out the right answer.”

  “Seven hells, why should I make up a story when I know the truth, little bird?” Sandor snarled a little exasperated. “Don’t you remember that I hate liars?”

  “Because it’s just a _game_ , darling,” Sansa explained again.

  “Aye, but I already know where the ships are going to. Look, the last one to the left side down is carrying wine and will sail tomorrow morning for King’s Landing. I overheard Ser Marlon telling Davos. What sodding story can I make up for that?”

  “Oh I don’t know, big man,” Sansa answered, remembering how little she had known of the world before she left Winterfell for King’s Landing, and meeting Sandor’s grey eyes. “Maybe you could say something about how the captain and sailors aboard that ship are going to risk their lives at sea just so that the lords and ladies of the capital can get drunk with better wine than they deserve.”

  For a moment Sandor didn’t even blink as he stared down at her, clearly taken aback by her last words and the contempt behind them. But Sansa couldn’t help it. Recalling the Lannisters was too much for her in these moments for some reason.

  Sandor surprised her in return when several heartbeats later the stern scowl on his face disappeared as he suddenly threw his head back and burst into a loud rough raucous laughter, snarling, “Fuck, now you are starting to sound like me, little bird. Not sure if that’s such a good thing.”

  Without another word her husband drew her to him in a tight hug, placing her head under his chin. Sansa ended up laughing weakly at that, burying her nose in Sandor’s chest, drinking in his male scent, wondering why she had become upset as she realized that maybe it was better to play the naming game with anyone but Sandor.

  They stood there for some moments in silence, before Sandor kissed the top of her head and rasped, “Rather than talking about other places strangers are going to, why don’t we talk about somewhere much closer? Why don’t we talk about Winterfell, little bird? We’re going there ourselves.”

  Sansa’s face split into a wide smile at that. _Yes, we are going home_ , she thought excitedly, before she looked up at Sandor’s face, exclaiming in agreement, “Yes, Winterfell. Oh dearest, I can’t wait to see it. Every time I even think about it, I feel as if I can’t breathe. I only need to close my eyes to see it as it last was when I left it. But I do know what we expect of course. We still have to face many things before I can sleep under Winterfell’s roof again, but the mere thought of it is too much to bear!”

  Sandor watched her as she talked with an approving expression, smirking down at her. The sight warmed Sansa’s heart. She was not expecting his next words though.

  “I wanted to talk to you about the journey to Winterfell, Sansa,” her big man told her, running his calloused fingertip down the bridge of her nose. “About the men who will be marching with us.”

 

***

 

 

  The little bird nodded, replying, “Oh yes. Hagen and I talked to Wyn and Wylla about that. They said that Oldcastle, Widow’s Watch, Ramsgate, the Sheepshead Hills and the headwaters of the Broken Branch will send men to White Harbour as soon as their grandfather openly proclaims his allegiance and that of the lands east of the Knife to Stannis and Rickon, and will wait here for our call of need.”

  Sandor already knew this. His eyes could not help but stare at Sansa’s nipples through the fabric of her shift as she talked for some moments, before rasping in reply, “Aye, but we won’t be getting any heavy horse from Widow’s Watch or the others to accompany us to Winterfell, Sansa. Instead I am going to have to lead that bunch of puffed up knights that hate my guts to war. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I was listening to Osha and Rickon talking the other day, and it struck me that maybe Skagos could be of some help to us and your brother, you know.”

  Sansa stared at him at a loss, before chirping in surprise, “ _Skagos_? But Sandor, the Skagosi rebelled against Winterfell a hundred years ago. They killed my forbearer and hundreds died on both sides.”

  Sandor grabbed Sansa’s hand and led her to the chair next to the fire, saying, “Yes, I know that there is little love between the north and the Skaggs, but they helped young Rickon out when he arrived at their isle. By what little Osha and The Onion have agreed to tell me about their time there, the Skagosi seemed to think that your brother and Shaggydog were some sort of gods. I know that they are a bunch of mad savage halfwits, little bird, but with time, if they are trained properly, who’s to say they wouldn’t fight for your brother if he were to call for their aid?”

  He sat down on the chair and waited for Sansa to sit down on his lap. She was staring at him with her mouth open in a little O, considering what he had just told her. Sandor waited patiently for the meaning of his words to sink in, grabbing a lock of auburn hair between his thumb and forefinger, pulling and playing with it.

  The fire in the hearth was the only sound in the bedroom for some moments. Well, the fire and the sound of the distant sea far away. The ocean was never silent, and it seemed to Sandor at times that the sound of the waves washing against the rocky shores could be heard even in the deep of the New Castle.

  At last, the little bird finally said in a soft voice, “If an allegiance with Skagos were to happen, we would first need to win the war against the Boltons and the Ironborn, and Stannis Baratheon would have to be far away south for him to be unable to protest about it. You have heard what he is like. If someone doesn’t believe in the red god, then he will only grudgingly consider striking a deal with them, and not much else if they are important enough, like the Night’s Watch. We won’t tolerate R’hllor in the north, so that’s already going to make matters complicated between us all. When one adds the dreadful rumours about the traditions the people in Skagos keep to this day, it is clear that King Stannis won’t agree with us. And not only him. Many Northmen won’t like this, so we would have to wait for Rickon to be a grown man and decide if he wants Skagos to join his cause. If he agrees, then we would have more men to join our forces against the Lannisters and the Freys, I suppose.”

  Sandor nodded, pleased with the little bird’s words, and glad to see her agreeing with him in this. He ran his hand along Sansa’s back, massaging the small of her back at one point, as he registered his little wife’s expression change as she looked down at his chest with a frown.

  _Something’s wrong_ , he knew at once, so he asked, “What’s the matter, my bird?”

  Her Tully blue eyes met his then, and gathering her courage, Sansa finally dared ask him in an uncertain voice, “Will Rickon agree for the right reasons though? I want to believe that we are doing a good job in raising him, Sandor, but how can we be sure that he will grow up to be a good man like Father and Robb before him?”

  “Your brother is young, but he learns quickly, little bird,” Sandor assured her, kissing her forehead. “I hope that he agrees for the right reasons, but in any case, I should bloody well expect he turns out to be a better Lord of Winterfell than your father and the Young Wolf were, bird. They were good _honourable_ men, but they were betrayed and died. We have to make sure Rickon doesn’t end up making that same mistake.”

  “And so far do you think that what we are doing is working?” she chirped, while he shifted her weight from one leg to the other.

  “I don’t know. We are doing the best we can, Sansa, but it’s not all up to us. Even the fucking knights of White Harbour- those buggers who are only too eager to see the last of me- are involved in this. They look up to Rickon and let him know it every day, and the lad’s starting to realize that he has to be their lord.”

  Sandor knew that his little bird was looking for some kind of assurance from him that everything would be all right in the end, but he couldn’t give her that. She would always only have the truth for him. Sansa nodded in understanding, and leaned over to kiss his scarred cheek before asking him, “How are you getting along with training Ser Rickard, Ser Rorn and the others? Have you decided which men will be joining us on the journey home?”

  _Bugger Ser Rickard and Ser Rorn and the others_ , Sandor thought, not wishing to talk about those idiots in these moments. _It’s enough that I have to see their bloody faces every day staring daggers at me alone start talking about them with my wife_. So far, there had not even been an exchange of words between him and the bloody knights of this city, and though that sodding clack of hens had all been reluctant witnesses of his third wedding with the little bird, they all like to keep their distance from him. _I am still the Hound to them._

 Sandor had been glad of the distance, since it not only made it easier for him to keep the promise he had made to the little bird on the day they’d gone out hawking shortly after the encounter with the idiots in the training yard of not letting their words affect him. But when Ser Marlon Manderly, that old bugger that had finally started warming up to Sandor, begrudgingly starting to show some sort of respect for him, had asked Sandor if he could oversee the training of the knights that would join him and the others on the long hard road to Winterfell, he had been unable to refuse.

  The old knight, Sansa, and even Seaworth and Edar had thought it would be good for him to get to know those men, but Sandor had only accepted so that he could find out what sort of risks would he be taking by allowing the little bird, Rickon, himself and the others to trust their lives to the likes of Ser Arron, Ser Rorn, and Ser Rickard, as they struck for the war. If the worst came to pass once they confronted the Boltons and the Freys or the Greyjoys, Sandor needed to be certain that the men who would be expected to hold the lives of Sansa and Rickon in their hands didn’t have shit in their fingers.

  _It doesn’t matter if they all wish me dead so long as they care for what happens to Sansa and Rickon_. The little cunts hated Sandor just as much as he loathed them and their sort, and now that he had to rub it in their faces every day just how unprepared they still were for a battle, they hated him more. None of them had the experience or knowledge Sandor possessed in delaying defences, building tramps and necks, or about campers, formations, trenches, counterattacks, and camps. Manderly had taken the men he deemed good enough to pass as soldiers with him to Winterfell, so now Sandor and Ser Marlon were left with the task of sacking White Harbour of the fuckers that had been left to protect them, to fortify the men Stannis had brought north, that according to the Onion were at this point less than fifteen hundred men.

  Since Sandor knew that the little bird would expect the truth from him right now, and since he could not easily forget how Sansa had stood beside him as she let White Harbour and the world how much he meant to her, always reminding everyone that they had to at least grudgingly respect him as her husband, he never hesitated in answering his little wife with the truth now.

  His mouth began to twitch as Sandor replied in a rough rasp, “Not yet. Some buggers are slightly better than others, but none of them would _really_ be happy to face me, even with blunted steel. Now imagine what they’ll do when the Bastard of Bolton and his Boys are before them.”

  Sansa sighed deeply, remarking, “They may not be very good knights dearest, but they are the ones Lord Wyman trusted White Harbour to,” as she grabbed his hand so she could brush his knuckles on her face, kissing each of his fingertips in turn.

  “Aye, because he had no other bloody choice-” Sandor began to say, before his bird interrupted him with, “Sandor, I _do_ thank you for keeping your word and not allowing any encounter to happen between you and the men again. But please big man, _please_ keep on being careful and wary when you train them. Don’t make them despise you. They may not be ready, but they are the only men who will listen to you when we are in the middle of Stannis’ army. I don’t want you to be surrounded by foes on all sides.”

  The way Sansa said those words, in a voice that sounded almost like a plea, was too much for Sandor, even if he could discern the wisdom behind them. He didn’t want the little bird to start worrying about him when he knew how busy she was with preparing and gathering the supplies and provisions they would need for the journey to her home, among other things. _She has enough on her plate_ _already_. Sandor didn’t want to complicate matters for her.

  So with a resigned sigh, he relented with a nod, cupping his wife’s face as he snarled, “All right, little bird. It will be more difficult than just keeping my distance, but I’ll try to make matters between me and those puffed up hens better.”

  Sandor knew that this was likely going to prove to be a hopeless cause, but what other options did he have?

  “Thank you, Sandor,” his little bird chirped, leaning down to kiss him as she sat on his lap.

  When the food arrived shortly after, Sandor and Sansa decided to eat it sitting down on the floor, reaching out to feed each other from time to time. They ate honeyed chicken, cod cakes, brown oatbread, and vension pies, and a bottle of wine to distract themselves for these last few days in White Harbour. _Who knows when I will have all the wine that I want so close at hand_ _again_.

  As the little bird finished a cod cake, she reached out for a letter in which she had written all the provisions she had gathered so far that they would need for the road to Winterfell. Sandor wolfed down his food a lot sooner than his little wife. Sansa was alternating between eating and reading her list to him so he could point out anything she might have missed, but Sandor was not able to hold himself for long once he was done eating.

  The sight of Sansa before him with one bare leg propped up before him, as she sat on the floor with nothing but her shift could not fail but catch Sandor’s attention, stilling him into gazing at her, as his blood started running faster through his veins, making the thought of fucking again cross his mind. The little bird must have noticed it, for when he gave her a sidelong look, he found that she was doing the same.

  Sansa narrowed her eyes as he moved closer to her bare leg, asking with suspicion, “Sandor dear, are you listening to me?”

  “Yes,” Sandor lied, sitting before the little bird, and drawing her bare long leg to him with his hands.

  She stared at what he was doing for a moment, before giving a little shake of the head, as she went on chirping, “I was just telling you that it would be wise to buy grain and seed across the Narrow Sea somewhere, somehow. Maybe from Lorath, and ask Hagen’s sister to support our cause.”

  “And where would we find the coin for that?” he asked her, his eyes fixed on the perfect white soft limb before him as he reached out to touch Sansa’s knee with his fingers.

  “Well, Lord Manderly should help us. Once we leave White Harbour we are going to sack much of this city’s warehouse, leaving its people with even less food than they already have. I feel so bad and guilty about that. We take their food and their soldiers and leave them with nothing in return. I wanted to help them in any way I could, but getting to know the people down at the Old Mint is making it harder for me to feel less attached to the fate of the people of the north.”

  Sandor looked up at Sansa as she confessed that to him, considering what to say. With a frown that he knew would only twist the burned side of his face into an ugly scowl, he rasped, “Keeping you and your brother alive is what is important here, little bird.”

  “But the smallfolk are also important,” Sansa argued. “Why, even the husbands of the women down at the Old Mint have gone off to the war. Their efforts-”

  “That mob of peasants that you care so much about is just compromised of the wives of swineherds and tanners and masons, Sansa. You think carrying a wooden spear makes those men soldiers? They didn’t want to fight in this war. Most of them came to the city running from it until Lord Oaf took them away to Winterfell, and even if they were still here, the moment you and Rickon appeared in this place, it was fucking obvious that White Harbour would be dragged into the war whether its people wished it or not.”

  “All the more reason for me to feel bad about the way we are leaving good people that think White Harbour is safe even more unprotected, Sandor,” she replied, her gaze never faltering under his measuring look. “I- I know you have always thought that those who are weak do not deserve to live, but I don’t think you truly believe in those words, because if you did, you would have left me to die in King’s Landing.”

  Sandor met Sansa’s eyes at that, and was proud to see that the little bird didn’t look away first. With a snort, he shook his head and returned his eyes to Sansa’s leg, sliding his hand up her thigh as he remarked, “All this talk of provisions and food is making me hungry, bird.”

  “There are still some vension pies left,” she answered.

  Smirking, Sandor leaned forward so he could kiss the inside of his wife’s thigh, drawing a sharp intake of breath from her as he muttered, “That’s not what I am hungry for, love. Sing me a song, little bird.”

  Giggling, Sansa exclaimed, “But I am reading you my list, big man.”

  “I’d rather you sung,” he admitted, earning him a light punch on the arm from Sansa.

  “You are hopeless, my love,” Sansa chirped, running her hand through his hair and kissing his temple quickly, before she sat up right with a little gasp exclaiming, “Oh, I forgot to tell you about it, Sandor! I’ve had so many things on my mind, it just slipped away. Anyway, do you know what I heard yesterday afternoon?”

  “What?” he said, caressing soothing circles on each side of the leg he had taken hold of.

  “That Wynafryd likes Ser Rodrik, that handsome household guard who is always by her side. Apparently, they have liked each other for more than a year now-”

  “Those two? Is that the tale now?” Sandor wondered with vague interest, reaching out for Sansa’s shift so that he could pull it backwards and reveal more of his little bird’s leg.

  “We should feed the fire soon again. It’s getting cold. But yes, as I was saying, that’s what Wylla told me. I know it’s not my place to gossip, but apparently poor Ser Rodrik nearly went mad with grief when he heard Wyn was to marry Rhaegar Frey. But when her grandfather left the city, Rodrik learned the truth. Wynafryd is older than me, so I don’t know what she expects to do. Do you think they’ll secretly marry soon?”

  Sandor looked up with incredulity at his little bird, barely able to believe she was really asking and talking to him about this. “How the fuck would I know?” was what he almost snarled in reply, but was thankfully properly shut up by the sight of Sansa staring down at him with a warm smile on beautiful her face, regarding him kindly as she waited for his answer.

  _Seven hells!_ Taking a deep breath, Sandor rasped, “I don’t know, little bird. If they feel like getting married, they’ll get married. And if they only feel like fucking, then they’ll fuck, I expect.”

  Sansa reddened at his words, and started giggling a moment later, before she said, “Oh big man, what am I ever going to do with you?”

  Shrugging, Sandor growled, “You wanted to know my opinion,” before he returned his attention to the little bird’s leg. “But I can think of many things you could with to me, and I with you.”

  Sandor sniffed at the inside of Sansa’s legs once he had placed one of them on his shoulder. That made his wife blush, as she gave a little moan before remarking shyly, “You have such warm hands. I can feel them through the fabric of my shift.”

  Sandor groaned at those words. He met little bird’s blue eyes with his, grateful to her for the way she always so readily trusted him.

  “I love you, little bird,” Sandor rasped, as he turned his head around so he could kiss Sansa’s ankle, which was at a level with his face as her feet rested on his shoulder.

  Sansa beamed at him as she began to reply softly, “And I you, my big man. I truly-” before her breath caught in her throat and she gasped loudly, stopping abruptly.

  Sandor stared at her at a loss as Sansa looked back at him with wide scared eyes for a moment, watching how she pulled down her leg from his shoulder in the blink of an eye, before she swiftly stood up, looking pale as a ghost in the matter of a heartbeat.

  Startled, Sandor got up as well, grabbing Sansa by the arm when he saw her sway where she stood.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked at once, frowning.

  She didn’t even seem to hear him. The little bird was staring down, bending over as she allowed him to support her weight.

  “Fuck Sansa, what’s happening?” he demanded, shaking her slightly to see if that would make her return his attention to him. Sandor was starting to fear something was wrong. “Are you in pain?”

  After a moment Sansa shook her head, and answered in a voice that was so tremulous Sandor could scarcely believe it was her own voice, “No.”

  “Then what the hell is going on, bird?” Sandor rasped roughly, his heart beating madly inside his chest with fear, impatience, rising anger, and who the fuck knew what else.

  Raising her head to look up at him, Sansa lifted her hand to cover her mouth. Sandor hadn’t believed it was possible for her Tully blue eyes to widen even more, but they did.

  “Sandor, what’s happening?” she blurted in a tight voice. “My tummy!”

  Completely puzzled, Sandor allowed Sansa to put his hand on her stomach. For several long heartbeats it was impossible for him to understand what was going on, since nothing was happening, unless he counted the increasing tight hold Sansa had of his wrist.

  “Little bird, what-?” Sandor began to ask, before his bird interrupted him with a loud, “Wait!”

  Just as he opened his mouth again, meaning to ask his wife if he should call for help, already fearing that someone had poisoned Sansa, Sandor suddenly felt _something_ moving inside the bird’s belly. It felt like the lightest of kicks, and had he not been expecting the movement, Sandor may not have even paid it much attention under other circumstances, but as his eyes met those of the little bird, they both knew that they had just been struck with the realization that this could very well be their first child.

  Sandor felt as though his heart had lodged in his throat as Sansa gasped.

  _Seven bloody buggering hells!_

 

***

 

  Sansa was still feeling the slight fluttering inside her tummy when the obvious possibility of what could it mean hit her. _That’s my baby. That’s our baby. It’s my child_. _Goods be good, a baby!_ She was going to have a baby. Sandor and she were going to have a baby.  _A child!_  

  It was too much for Sansa. Her throat felt dry as her heart suddenly burst inside of her, making it hard for her to breathe or gather the thousands of thoughts that were running through her mind in these moments, as she tried to make sense of everything that could possibly confirm that this was indeed a baby and not the belch she had at first suspected was the reason for her tummy to have tighten into knots.

  This was not the first time she had felt this, but she had believed her tummy was just telling her that it was sick or hungry, but the movement had been too strong this time to dismiss as such. 

  “Little bird,” Sandor rasped before her in a hoarse rough voice, still resting his big hand on her tummy even if the light kicking had ceased a moment ago.

  Sansa raised her face to meet Sandor’s gaze, not even realizing that tears were starting to slide down her cheeks until her big man wiped them away gently with his thumb. Overwhelmed, Sansa could only raise her hand to cup her husband’s face in return, feeling the hard leathery skin beneath her palm, glaring excitedly into his grey eyes. His mouth had begun twitching.

  “Little bird, are you- are you?” Sandor began to ask her with uncertainty, clearly as surprised by these turn of events as she was.

  Oh but this was just the best turn of events Sansa could think could happen to her! She wondered fleetingly if her heart was beating so wildly because she was happy or because she was scared, or because of both.

  With a tight voice, Sansa gave a tiny nod, as she answered, “I think I may be. I- I have to see a maester or a septa for confirmation, but- but darling, what else could it have been?”

  Sandor’s mouth gave another twitch. He shrugged, regarding her with so many emotions that only served to overwhelm Sansa more than she already was _. It’s so silly that we didn’t see it coming_.  _How it didn’t occur to me before_. Sansa placed her hands on her belly, marvelling at the way she still felt as if this was her body, even if right now it was highly probable that there was a little person inside of her.

  “How long do you think you’ve been like this?” Sandor asked her, running a hand across his face, still blinking down at her in surprise.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, wishing her mother was here. “I mean, I for the last months I’ve barely bled at all, and when that happened, it was a day or so later than the day it usually does. But I’ve never drunk moon tea, Sandor. That was the last thing in my mind, and I haven’t cared to find out about where I could get some.”

  Sandor nodded, still looking incredulous because of what had just happened, as he asked her, “And is not bleeding the only way a woman can know that they- that they are with child?”

  Sansa shook her head, wishing so much she could have her mother with her to tell her that everything was going to be all right. She hugged herself as she replied, “No, I don’t think so. Septa Mordane always told me it’s not the same for every woman. There is also swelling and morning sickness. I haven’t felt those. Maybe just a little swelling now that I think about it, but I’ve woken up with headaches more than once, and felt lightheaded or dizzy too.”

  “And why in seven hells didn’t you tell me about it?” her big man demanded of her.

  “I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t believe they meant anything,” she replied, clapping her hands in excitement at the sweet realization that she was going to have a baby and be a mother.  “Oh Sandor, it was really silly of me not to expect it, but it’s just that I’ve had so many things in my mind of late- from Rickon and the war and visiting the Old Mint, and the preparations to the journey to Winterfell, that I never stopped to recall that we could very well be in the way of starting our own family. But yes, it all makes sense now! Of late I’ve had different moods taking over me when I least expect it, and my breasts at times feel sore And even this morning as I had my fitting I remembered that of late my clothes seemed to fit me a little tighter. What else could all these mean if not a child?”

  “I don’t know,” Sandor grunted, looking around him till his eyes fell on the chair they’d sat on earlier. “I have to sit down.”

  Sansa started giggling as her big man strode across the bedroom to take a seat, realizing she was finding it hard to stand and talk all at the same time. She was sure she was glowing. _Thank you gods. Thank for this. Please, let it truly be a baby. A child with Sandor. There can be nothing better than that_.

  Her husband looked her over with an intense stare, before rasping, “Come.”

  Sansa did as she was told, suddenly remembering that just as she was going to be a mother, her big man was going to be a father. _He must be as scared at the meaning of that as I am happy_. Sansa had longed ever since she was a little girl to have babies, but she knew that had been something Sandor had never considered or believed he’d wanted until his feelings for her turned into the deep and meaningful love and care he had for her now. 

  _He is going to look after us_ , Sansa thought to herself, fancying already that her baby could hear her thoughts, as she walked across the room towards her big man. Sandor stared at her tummy as she approached him, and gently turned her around when he splayed his hands on her hips, before drawing her down towards him until Sansa was sitting on his thigh, her feet over his big ones.

  Sandor supported her body by carefully throwing his arm around her waist, taking care to hold her not too closely to him as if he feared causing her or the baby some harm. Sansa looked downwards, resting the back of her head on Sandor’s shoulder, waiting for her big man to speak or do something, knowing that Sandor just wanted to hold her close as he wrapped his mind about the wonderful tidings.

  But when the silence had gone on for too long and she could bear it no longer, Sansa finally voiced one of the questions she was wondering about.

  “Did you not expect it to happen?” she asked Sandor softly, ready for whatever answers he was prepared to give her.

  Sansa turned her head around to face him, and was relieved by what her big man said next.

  “What?  I- fuck, of course I expected it, little bird.” Sandor snarled, surprised, making a sound that might have been a laugh. “We’ve been at it more than enough, so I’d had hope- but I didn’t like to bring the matter up since you hadn’t, and I didn’t want to upset you. I didn’t know how to even ask you. I was sort of waiting for you to say something, but if in the end we couldn’t- well, so long as we were together and you were safe, I wasn’t about to start complaining, Sansa. I thought too that maybe you wanted to wait till after the war, when Winterfell was restored to you and Rickon, and if you wanted to drink moon tea, then I would support your decision. I- ah, bloody hells, I don’t know what I thought anymore, bird, but I _did_ hope for this to happen. I’ve always wantedpups and birdlings with you, my little wife.”

  Sansa was crying again tears of joy by the time Sandor was done with his answer. She had never loved him more and seeing him struggle to try and made it clear to her that he _did_ want this baby, she could not help herself. She turned around and threw her arms around Sandor, burying her face in the crook of her neck as she began to allow her tears to fall freely.

  Her husband hugged her to him as he ran a hand down her long loose cascade of hair falling down her back, murmuring how much she meant to him in her ear, telling her again that he loved her very much, thanking her for making him happy, bursting into earnest laughter as he rasped incredulous that he couldn’t believe this was happening, echoing her own feelings on this matter, and promising her too that he would try to be a good father. 

  Moments later, when she finally raised her head to meet Sandor’s burned face again, sniffing, her cheeks wet, she could not help but laugh as her dearest love looked back at her with love softening his harsh features, as he arched his eyebrow at her and asked her in play, “So I take it that you want this too then?”

  “Oh yes, I want this too, my silly big man,” she finally replied, leaning forward so she could press her brow to her husband’s scarred forehead, before they started kissing after Sandor brought his hand to rest protectively over her tummy.

  They never knew how long they stayed like that, waiting with eagerness for their baby to move again, and trying to adjust their minds to the joy and responsibility that had just occurred between them, and which would accompany them through their lifetimes as they became parents and started a family, if the old gods and the new were kind enough to let them live that long.

  At one point, sometime later, as Sandor cradled her body to his, and Sansa hummed a song for her husband and the child inside her with her eyes closed, her big man suddenly startled her from the soothing stillness that had fallen in their bedroom, as he exclaimed, “Little bird, look!”

  Opening her eyes, Sansa turned her gaze towards where Sandor was pointing. And then she gasped when her eyes fell on the window. Snow was falling at long last in White Harbour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... I shall keep my fingers crossed that you enjoyed this chapter. I do thank you all very much for reading, and I hope you all know how much I appreciate it :D Thank you!!


	49. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> * You are the best Onborrowedwings!! Thanks for helping me with the beta work even when you’re having a full schedule :D Means a lot :D  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.
> 
> *I would like to dedicate this chapter to Onborrowedwings because of everything she’s done to help me improve as a writer, and for all her help with this fic, and for being such a nice friend! x)

  Sandor closed the door of the healing room behind him, offering the little bird his arm as he turned around to face her, returning her wide smile with a grin that he knew twisted his burned face into an ugly scowl as they started walking down the empty hallway, his heart pounding inside him in rhythm with his footsteps.

  _I’m going to be a father_ , were the words Sandor kept on repeating in his mind, over and over again to see if that would help this turn of events finally sink in. Sure, those light kicks he and Sansa had felt yesterday inside her belly had all but confirmed it, but having another person erasing any possibility that the light kicking had been anything but an actual child- _my child_ \- seemed to make all the difference to Sandor in these moments.

  Yesterday, Sansa and Sandor had decided not to tell anyone about this until they were really certain that they were going to have a pup, and had therefore told Rickon, Edar, the Manderlys and the others that Sandor’s back had been hurting him lately, hoping it would pass as a decent enough excuse if anyone asked them why had they visited Septa Tilla at the healing room. Since the maester the Citadel had sent to White Harbour had left the city to oversee Wylis Manderly’s recovery, Sandor and his little wife had sought out the family’s septa, with the bird making the woman promise them she wouldn’t say a word to anyone. 

  While Septa Tilla examined Sansa, Sandor had asked her how long the little bird had been like this, and had been more surprised than he really should’ve been when the septa answered, “It wouldn’t be out of the question that Lady Sansa has been with child ever since the wedding night or thereabouts. She’s been expecting for nearly four months, I would hazard as a guess, and that is how long you two have been married, is it not?”

  “But _how_?” the little bird had chirped in a dazed voice. “I’ve had my moonblood.”

  The septa had narrowed her eyes and considered thoughtfully for a moment, before asking, “Was it a heavy bleeding?”

  Feeling really uncomfortable, Sandor saw Sansa shift and frown before answering, “No. It was very light- just like on the day when it first visits me, only it has remained that way the whole time.”

  “Was it the same colour as it usually is?”

  “Oh dear, I couldn’t say exactly. Maybe- maybe I think it’s been more like the colour of dried blood. Since it was there I think I sort of dismissed the possibility that I was expecting from my mind, but with every month it’s been appearing later than it usually does, and this month it was meant to visit me last week. Do other women have their moonblood as well in such cases?”

  “You didn’t have your moonblood, my lady,” the septa replied. “No woman can if they are with child. What I think you had was a spotting, and yes, other women _do_ have it. It usually stops after the first three months, and since you just said you were meant to have bled last week, I don’t think this is something we should worry about. If the spotting persists, then I would advise to pursue a more drastic solution, and we could send a raven to Maester Theomore.”

  “Why do _I_ have it in the first place?” Sansa wanted to know.

  Sandor gulped. He had never felt more aware of just how little men really knew of all of these, and all he could do was listen and learn and be surprised that Sansa wasn’t embarrassed to discuss this so openly with him in the room, considering that back in Pentos she had woken up crying for having stain the sheets of their bed with her blood. _Or back like when she almost burned her whole room in fear of what the golden fucks would do to her now that Joffrey could take her into her bed._ By the way the septa kept throwing unsure looks in his direction whenever the woman dared to turn towards him for more than a moment, Sandor could tell that she was more uncomfortable with talking about all of these with him present, than he was in the first place. _Bloody stupid, as if I hadn’t seen or learned worse things before_.

  Turning quickly to regard Sandor with wide eyes once again, the septa hesitated before taking a deep breath and saying, “It could be for different reasons, to be sure. Miscarriage is one, which is not your case, thank the gods. Or it could be due to some disease or- or for lying with your husband while you are expecting, Lady Stark.”

  Sandor and Sansa’s eyes locked at once, the same thought running through their minds. _We’ve been at it long enough,_ Sandor thought, aware that the true answer to Sansa’s question was the last option as the little bird’s flushed, as red as an apple.

  As they made their way silently through the New Castle side by side, with both of them trying to wrap their minds around this whole affair, the grip the little bird had on Sandor’s arm tightened, making him shake his head and return his attention to the present.

  An old knight Sandor thought he’d seen before passed him and his wife in the corridor then, and when the man acknowledged them with a nod of the head and a smile, Sandor turned his head around to catch a glimpse of Sansa, and had to grin again at the sight of her face all lit up at the septa’s confirmation, wondering for the briefest of moments if their faces wouldn’t give away their secret to any attentive passerby.

  _Fuck, she looks so happy!_ Sandor thought now, dazed and proud as hell even as the thought of shoving Sansa up against the wall so he could kiss her hard flashed across his mind.

  But they wanted to keep this a secret for a while longer, and Sandor would have to wait till they reached the bedroom for the kiss and maybe more, since that was the only place where they could do whatever they wanted and talk and really be themselves in this city, away from prying eyes, if maybe not from the ever ready listening ears. _At least it’s not as bad as the Red Keep_ , he concluded grudgingly.

  So Sandor ran a hand through his hair as they reached the hallway’s end instead, still amazed that the baby had been with them for so long now, as he stifled the laugh that came to him. Sandor and the little bird had expected this to happen- they both had wanted this, and after all the time they’d spent fucking, Sandor shouldn’t be surprised.

  Yet somehow, knowing that Sansa was carrying his pup for truth, amazed him, making him proud and happy, but fucking scared as well in more than one way, for hundreds of new thoughts were beginning to take hold of his mind, and not all of them were good.

  _Gregor may not be around anymore, but there are plenty of others who will seek to harm the babe, and not because of whom its parents are, but because of whom it would be_. His children would be Rickon’s heirs until the lad sired his own wolf pups, or Brandon Stark came back and could use everything below his waist, and since neither of those options seemed likely to happen any time soon, Sansa’s safety and that of their child had just made matters more complicated. 

  _But it’s not even that_ , Sandor reminded himself suddenly, gulping as he covered his little bird’s hand with his own as she went on holding on to his arm while he steered her down corridors and up staircases. One of his worst sudden fears was Sansa dying in childbirth.

  The septa had told Sansa that she had good hips and was tall for her age, and would probably carry his child better than most women, but to Sandor it didn’t matter. It was as if half of him was struggling with the joy of being a father and with all the apprehensions he couldn’t allow himself to forget, with emotions clashing within him he wanted to keep at bay so as to keep the little bird from noticing, and start worrying about them herself.

  _If the choice comes to me_ \- and Sandor was going to do everything in his power for others to be secretly aware of it since he knew the little bird would oppose him- _then I would rather that those in charge of the birth- the soding midwives and the others- know that keeping Sansa alive is what matters most_. 

  He wanted a family with the little bird more than anything, but not at the expense of Sansa’s life. _I can’t lose her._ Sandor couldn’t even bring himself to brood about what that would mean for long, wishing he could believe in the bloody gods, so he could find some sort of comfort in the hope that they would listen to him. But there were no gods, whereas there were still plenty of other concerns they had to consider. 

  Sandor sighed for the loss of the simpler life he and his little bird had known back in Essos, remembering how happy he and Sansa had been yesterday afternoon after the baby had kicked- when none of these thoughts were troubling him since the broader scale of things hadn’t yet sunk in when he and Sansa had gone down to the Waterway Stairs to play in the long awaited snow, before the others joined them.

  “Would you like a boy or a girl?” Sansa had asked him back then, hugging him from behind as he knelt on the ground before her, resting from the snowball fight they’d had and which he’d won, with the sky darkening all around them, announcing dusk.

  Sandor had snorted at that and looked over at his little bird in surprise, taking in the hopefully beaming face with which she was regarding him, holding her breath in anticipation for his answer.

  _What did I ever do to have her look at me this way?_ He had wondered, struck speechless for a moment as he treasured in his memory the warmth and love with which Sansa’s Tully blue eyes had regarded him, her cheeks flushed and her mouth slightly parted.

  “I don’t mind if it’s a pup like me or a pretty little birdling like you, love,” Sandor had truthfully rasped in reply, gathering that the only thing that mattered was that it was healthy and happy, and that they could keep it safe. “I’m just happy.”

  The silent walk from the healing room to their bedroom felt like the longest one Sandor had ever taken in his whole life, but the memory of Sansa’s kiss on the burned side of his face after he’d told her that helped him through it.

 

***

 

  Sansa was sitting beside her big man on the edge of their bed, silently holding his hand as she played over and over in her mind the way it had felt to have her baby move inside her. She could never have suspected that she would love someone she had not even been aware existed a day ago so much, but she did. It was as if her heart had suddenly grown to twice its size, only now instead of only being filled with the love she had for Sandor, the seeds of an equally stronger bond were filling her up.

  If she only closed her eyes Sansa could picture perfectly her and Sandor sitting together in Winterfell’s glass gardens, with their children sitting in their laps. _We could have two little girls_. _One that looks like me and one that looks like Arya since Sandor has the Stark colouring_.

  In her mind, Sansa’s sons looked almost like the brothers and the father she had lost. _We can name our sons Eddard and Brandon and Robb, and raise them to be as strong as their father, and as good mine was_.

  Her child changed everything and yet, despite that, Sansa could not really bring herself to wish this change of circumstance wasn’t happening to them. Ever since she had been a little girl herself she had longed for the day when she would be a mother, and it made no matter that back then the children she had wanted were golden lions, because now the very thought of having Sandor’s baby was better than any princes and princesses she would’ve been forced to give to Joffrey, or any children belonging to Arman Nervere.

  _I must go to the sept and thank the gods for this precious gift. And I must visit the Wolf’s Den too, to pray to the old gods_ , was what Sansa was thinking when Sandor reached out to brush back a loose strand of her hair.

  Sansa smiled at her love at that, before she took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. She then slowly stood up and went to stand before the window, staring at the snowfall that lay thick upon all of the ground of White Harbour and its surrounding lands as she rested her hand on her tummy. Sansa could barely believe that it was really snowing in White Harbour at long last.

  Her eyes were rooted to the landscape before her, mesmerized by how beautiful it was to see snow descending from the sky again. _It has been too long_. Snow was even falling on the wilderness beyond The Bite by now. As she watched the flakes drift down as soft and silent as memory upon the city below her- at White Harbour turning into a white city, with white towers and snowy bridges and rooftops- the sight took Sansa back to cold nights long ago, in the summer of her childhood.

  She had last seen snow the day she’d left Winterfell, though she remembered that one had been a lighter fall than this. _Robb had melting flakes in his hair when he hugged me and the snowball Arya tried to make kept coming apart in her hands_. It hurt to remember how happy she had been that morning, unaware of what lay in store for her in King’s Landing.

  Hullen had helped her mount, and she’d ridden out with the snowflakes swirling around her, off to see the great wide world. _Growing up at Winterfell, all I ever wanted was to escape, to go to the capital. To see the southern knights and their painted armour. King’s Landing after dark, and all the candles burning in all those windows._ _But now, after the long path that took me half a world away, from Pentos and Norvos, to Lorath and across the Narrow Sea, here I am again, back in the north_.

  Yesterday, after Sansa and Sandor had felt their baby kick inside her for the first time, they had gone down to the Waterway Stairs, and Sansa’s favourite place in the New Castle had taken her breath away. As drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, melting on her cheeks, Sansa had wondered if she had stepped into a dream. But no, dreams could not have matched those moments, nor the happiness that had been coursing through her veins, making her heart beat with a new purpose at the prospect of becoming a mother.

It had felt like a new day- a new beginning- as she stood in front of the courtyard in the center of the Waterway Stairs, beside the wide pool after having played a dozen snowball fights with her big man, her little brother, Hagen and Osha, and the others, Sansa had turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes, feeling the snow on her lashes, tasting it on her lips, thinking that that was the taste of Winterfell. _The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams_. Maybe that was why she and little Rickon had ended up building a castle out of the sudden snows that was meant to be Winterfell.

  But winter could be as dangerous as it was beautiful. Sansa was a northerner. She knew better than her big man could how terrible the winters in her land were, even if she had grown up during the long summer. She was a Stark, and the lingering knowledge of just how cruel winter could be was in her blood.

  A sudden howl cut across the silence in the air, and the sound echoed perfectly the inner struggles that were troubling Sansa’s soul. It was a howl that was a voice drawn and desolate which Sansa knew at once to belong to Shaggydog, and which made her feel dizzy, for it drew her back to her reality, away from the castles in the air she had been losing herself in to escape voicing one of the most important matters presently at hand she and her husband had to face and discuss.

  The threat that had been taking over her thoughts came back to her at the sound of her brother’s direwolf, making her lips trembled because for an instant her head had been full of dreams, but now they had all been snatched away. How Sansa missed her Lady!

  _Nothing is ever_ _easy_ , she gathered, collecting herself as she turned around to regard her big man, who had remained seated on the edge of their bed, lost in a brooding stillness very much like the one she had been in mere moments ago. This silence was intolerable, so Sansa broke it when Sandor’s eyes met her own, asking the question that had hung in the air between them.

  “Do you think I will be able to accompany you now?” she said softly, feeling as if every word weighted her down with a pang of sadness the moment it left her mouth.

  Sandor’s burned features hardened at that at once, and his eyes momentarily left her face to settle down on her tummy, before he grimaced and stood up, making for the bottle of sour red he had brought back from the kitchens yesterday so they could toast in celebration of becoming parents.

  Sansa watched her big man as he silently offered her a cup, which she declined, before lifting the flagon to his mouth. She could see the muscles of his neck working as he drank it down while staring at the fire in the hearth. When he was done Sandor wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and returned his stare to her, weighing her down with those grey eyes Sansa loved so much. _Eyes our children will have, if the gods are willing_.

  “You _can_ , little bird,” Sandor finally rasped. “It’s few months into your state, and you can still ride a horse.”

  Her big man took a deep breath then, but Sansa knew he was not finished. She could register clearly how much her husband hated saying the next words that came out of his mouth, not because of the rough rasp of his voice, or the way the burned part of his scarred lips began to twitch, but because she was thinking and feeling exactly the same.

  “But I would prefer to have you on the side of safety, Sansa, and not risk your life or that of the babe.”

  “I understand,” she said, trying hard to keep her voice from breaking. She wanted to go and win Winterfell back, and Sansa didn’t want to part from Sandor’s side at almost any cost, but she could not go home yet because of her child’ sake, whereas Sandor had no other choice but to go to war.

  The moment she spoke, something in Sandor broke as well, and in the blink of an eye he had crossed the room in four long strides, wrapping his powerful arms around Sansa, crushing her to him as he lifted her from the ground. She buried her face in the warm crook of his neck, her arms thrown tightly around him in return. The meaning behind the realization of what they were saying was running through Sansa’s mind as Sandor kissed her forehead and ran his hand through her hair, growling.

  When she raised her head from his neck to look at him, Sandor leaned down to kiss Sansa’s cheeks, nose and eyelids, before snarling, “It’s not only because of the bloody climate, little bird, or the dangerous travelling. We are going to face hunger and-”

  “Sandor, I _know_ that,” Sansa interrupted, but Sandor just shook his head, and kept on explaining, “We are going to travel light and without many commodities, since we have to move fast and stealthily so as not to be detected by the enemy, avoiding roads-”

  “Yes,” she agreed, nodding, wondering if Sandor had forgotten that she had overseen the plans with him personally. “I know that there are going to be snowstorms and the snow will be feet high. I know that we were going to travel with a small baggage train, taking only the necessary things for survival.

  I know that at some points we would even have to move on foot because the warhorses will sink in the snow, and if we were forced to take any roads, they would probably be bad roads we would have had to clean ourselves in the first place in order to move.

  I know that the caravan was going to be compromised of men able to fight, not women or children, but for me and Osha and Rickon. But I now know too that even if I could manage to do the bodily effort, I shouldn’t risk it. And so I won’t.”

  Sandor rested one of his large hands on her neck, caressing her jaw line with his calloused thumb as he looked down at her with several emotions twisting his features.

  “Of course you know, she-wolf” Sansa’s big man said proudly, finally listening to what she was trying to tell him, as he lowered her to the ground. “I can’t take my wife and child to open war, where not even the usual camp followers that go behind an army are likely to follow us; where we will probably have to fight our way to Stannis, be it to attack or to defend ourselves from ambushes. But it’s really more difficult than that, little bird. The most important thing is that it’s not just the two of us anymore, the way it was in Essos.”

 Nodding, feeling her heart already breaking inside her chest, Sansa agreed. _Yes, now I have to two children to take care of. Rickon and the baby_ , she thought, touching her belly protectively. _Gods forbid, if something were to happen to my brother, then my child and any other that came after would be the next Stark heirs to Winterfell and the North_. Sandor and she could be the parents to the next Lord of Winterfell.

  They could not let the Stark line perish in the war against the Boltons and the Ironborn, and later on the Lannisters and the Freys. Sansa was not one bit happy at the thought of being left behind, but she had at this point accepted it as a necessity, since her child’s safety was first and foremost in her mind now.

  “Oh Sandor,” Sansa said, overwhelmed at the thought of her big man leaving her side. _I can’t believe we are going to do this_. “Do you realize what this _means_?”

  She placed her hand on her big man’s hard chest, above his beating heart, realizing that Sandor was not going to be around to see her grow big with their baby, and could possibly not even be back when the time to give birth arrived. _I won’t wake up to find him beside me anymore, and I will not hear his voice as he snorts at something I say or do. I won’t be able to see his face light up as he grins widely whenever I enter a room, and may not even reach out to hold tightly on to his hand when the time to give birth arrives._

  They had been together for almost every day since the night they’d left King’s Landing behind them, and now, to part ways after so many months and months and face the several daunting tasks ahead by themselves, was just too much for Sansa.

  “I cannot lose you, Sandor,” she finally confessed, speaking out loud the thought she feared would become a possibility if stated, her hand fisting the fabric of Sandor’s tunic tightly.

  Her big man blinked down at her in surprise, but it was only for a heartbeat, because a moment later his mouth began to twitch again as a smile appeared on his face, and he snarled, “Silly little bird,” before he leaned over to kiss her. His dry lips nibbled hers before she slipped her tongue inside his mouth, wishing for time to stand still. 

  “I am _serious_ ,” Sansa protested when they had broken apart, their noses touching and their foreheads resting against the other, hoping she could hold back her tears. _I do not mind if I sound silly. I have to tell him this_.

  Chuckling softly, Sandor kissed her forehead before saying in a voice that sounded sad rather than boastful, “Anyone who wishes to kill me is bloody welcome to try, Sansa. But that doesn’t mean that the only thing the buggers will earn for their troubles will be a sword stuck through their bellies.”

  “Yes, but what if someone tries to kill you in a battle?” she asked him, unable to hide the desperation and fear in her voice. “Or what if someone uses poison or a hired sword or- or what if Stannis tries to harm you in some way like Arman Nervere did?”

  Sansa knew that Sandor understood what she was truly afraid of. They had heard the most dreadful gossip about Stannis Baratheon burning people alive more than once.

  “That can’t be helped,” Sandor told her finally. “It’s not called the bloody game of thrones for nothing, bird. There will be many dangers for us all. But we knew that, didn’t we? There is no going back now.”

  “Yes, but what if-” Sansa began to say, before Sandor cut her off by taking her jaw between his thumb and forefinger, and snarled, “Sansa, after everything that we have lived through together- after how sweet you showed me life can be- I would be fucking mad if I allowed someone to kill me without giving the whoreson a good fight. Bird, I am the only husband I plan on you ever having. So now- Sansa, _look_ at me.”

  With silent tears sliding down her cheeks, Sansa returned her gaze to Sandor’s face, looking at him.

  “Look at me and tell me if you don’t trust me- if you really think that I won’t do _everything_ in my power to make it through till the end,” her big man instructed her. “Till I’ve won back your home and I come back here and have you beside me once again?”

  The way he looked as he said those words made it hard for Sansa to keep back the tears that were threatening to blur her vision.

  “Sandor,” Sansa whimpered, feeling a couple of tears slide down her cheeks, leaving a wet trail behind them as she pressed her mouth against her big man’s scarred lips as she whispered, “It isn’t that. I- of course I believe you.”

  “Good,” he grunted solemnly, closing his eyes as he brought his mouth to claim hers in a hard kiss.

  Burying her face into his chest, Sansa hugged Sandor around the waist, allowing her tears to fall freely at long last, not caring that she was wetting Sandor’s chest. Sansa cried, clinging to Sandor so fiercely in an attempt to stop herself from shaking, because despite his words of reassurance, the thought of losing her protector and friend; her husband and lover, and the father to her baby, could not stop haunting her. Before she knew what had happened, Sansa found that she and her big man had fallen to their knees as they hugged each other.

  Sandor kissed the top of her head, rasping in a hard tone once he had cupped her face so she would look at him again, “And now it’s your turn, little bird. Promise me that you will take care of yourself. We’ve been lucky so far, looking out for each other for months and all, but now- now I won’t be here to take care of you or the child. I’ll have to do something that I hate, and trust you to others. It doesn’t matter that the Manderlys aren’t as bad as the rest.

  If anything were to happen to you- during the birth, or in any other time- You are a part of me, Sansa and there wouldn’t be any fucking point in me returning from the war with my head still attached to my shoulders if _I_ were to learn that something had happened to you. I am the one who could not live without my little bird.”

  Letting a sob escape her, Sansa reached out to run her hand through her husband’s hair, with tears glistening on her face as she whispered softly, solemnly, “I promise, Sandor. I promise...”

  Two days later, on a clear white morning, Sansa was heading towards Rickon’s room, humming a tune absentmindedly as she smoothed the skirts of her dress down. Hagen had told her that her brother had had a nightmare last night, and Sansa had at once decided to go check on him.

  “Sansa!” Rickon exclaimed, after she’d knocked on his door, greeting her with a smile.

  “Good morning, Rickon,” she said, walking over to give her baby brother a hug and a kiss as he stood up on the bed to reach her height better.

  Rickon allowed her to hug him, but when she pecked his cheek he squirmed in her embrace, much as she remembered little Bran and Arya doing when they’d been Rickon’s age.

  Osha picked up a pair of discarded boy’s breeches from the ground, muttering, “Morning, little lady.”

  “Hello Osha,” Sansa replied, sitting on the bed and reaching out to ruffle her brother’s hair. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Well enough,” the wildling answered, jerking her head in Rickon’s direction. “Until the little lord woke up screaming, calling out for your lady mother.”

  Hagen had already told Sansa that. She nodded, looking over at Rickon as he sat back on the bed, reclining on his pillows as he returned her gaze with a defiant little frown.

  “Did you dream of mother last night, Rickon?” she asked him softly, reaching as she placed her other hand on her tummy. _I wish mother was here now. I need her more than ever_. Rickon needed her too.

  Sansa wondered for a moment if Rickon would answer her truly, going so far as to think that she ought to have brought Sandor with her since maybe her brother would open up to her easier if her big man was around,  when Rickon met Osha’s eyes briefly, before surprising Sansa as he said truthfully, “No. I- there was a lady there, but her face was hooded.”

  “What was this woman doing?” Sansa enquired, smoothing back Rickon’s auburn locks.

  “Nothing,” Rickon answered, shrugging. “She was just sitting on a horse, with many shadows around her. I couldn’t make out the shadows, but I think they were men. When I urged the pack to move forward, I-”

  Sansa’s mouth opened into a wide O at that at once, feeling as if the air had been knocked out of her. _Did he just said what I think he said?_ she wondered, raising her hand to her mouth as memories of her own previous dreams- dreams where she was Shaggydog looking for his lost pack came back to her in a rush. _Oh Lady_.

  “What did you say?” she whispered, afraid at the hoarse tone of her voice. _So it is not happening to me only!_

  Turning around to look at Osha, Sansa found that the wildling woman was studying her reaction with narrowed eyes and a growing little knowing smile on her harsh features. Sansa blinked and looked back at her brother, who was puzzled by her reaction as he hastily said, “I- I don’t know what it meant though. I woke up soon after.”

  “You know what it means, boy,” the wildling woman corrected her brother, not unkindly, walking over to place a hand on Rickon’s shoulder as a sigh of silent support. With dark bright eyes Osha looked at Sansa and pointed out, “You both know.”

  Confused and utterly unready for this unexpected revelation, Sansa leaned forward, asking Rickon, “Do you ever dream that you are Shaggy?”

  Gulping, Rickon never looked away as he answered, “Yes. Bran dreamed he was Summer too. Did you dream that before Lady died?”

  Realizing that she was still holding her breath, Sansa sighed long and deep as she shook her head.

  “My favourite dreams are when Shaggy runs and hunts squirrels and birds and sheep and horses,” Rickon went on confessing. “Last night Shaggy was doing that even as he led other wolves to the river, but then the hooded woman appeared.”

  When he was done her little brother awaited her reply, but Sansa could not answer. She was shocked speechless by what this could mean, and was certain that she would never have believed the possibility that was starting to gnaw at her mind had she not experienced something similar to Rickon herself. _And apparently similar to Bran as well_. Oh, if only she had Robb and Arya and Jon Snow with her right now!

  Sansa’s tummy tightened into a knot, but for the first time since she’d learned she was with child, all thoughts of her baby had fled her mind. _I dreamed I was Shaggy the night before we found Rickon and Osha and Davos in Braavos, and I was dreaming I was inside the direwolf’s skin when Wyn, Wylla, Hagen and the others found us in the woods too_. What had Rickon dreamed of himself that turned out to be true?

  Staring at Rickon, her throat dry, Sansa asked in a tremulous wary voice, “And is that all you have ever dreamed about when you are Shaggy in your sleep? Hunting and this hooded woman?”

  “No, m’lady,” Osha suddenly answered, making Sansa recall that the wildling woman was in the room. “He and Bran dreamed of your Father visiting the crypts beneath Winterfell the night before the news arrived from the south that Lord Stark was no more.”

  Rickon’s blue eyes flashed with anger at that, and he exclaimed loudly with resentment behind his words, “I saw Father that time, and Father promised me he was coming home. I waited for him down in the crypts, but he never came.”

  Just as Sansa had been certain that Shaggydog was not going to harm Sandor that morning back in Ragman’s Harbour when the wolf had thrown her big man to the ground, Sansa was certain that her brother and Osha were not lying to her now.

  Fighting back her tears at the memories of seeing her father die before her, fearing her resolve would soon wither, Sansa took her brother by the hand and said softly, “Has Father been the only one you’ve seen in a dream? You have never had a nightmare of something bad happening to the others? To Arya or me or Mother or Robb?”

  Her baby brother was looking at her with hurt in his eyes, as if wondering why she was making him remember this. But Sansa needed a sudden dreadful thought that had sprung on her head to be either confirmed or denied. _If he dreamt of Father around the time he was killed, maybe he also dreamed of Mother and Robb at The Twins_.

  As Rickon was about to answer her, Hagen Edar suddenly appeared on the doorway, his bow and arrow attached to his back, and a beaming smile on his face as he exclaimed, “Good morning, my lord, and my ladies! Rickon, what are you doing here? Sandor is waiting for you in the practice yard already.”

  Before Sansa or Rickon could recover from the tension that had hung in the air between them during their conversation, Osha answered the Lorathi by saying, “The little lord has been ready for at least half an hour, Edar. It’s not his fault that you and Lord Clegane took so long in getting your arses down to the yard.”

  Hagen burst out laughing at that, exclaiming fondly, “Ah Osha, why doesn’t your sweet behavior surprise me one bit?”

  Completely unperturbed, acting as if nothing of consequence had occurred so far this morning, Osha answered Hagen back, as Rickon and Sansa stared at each other.

  “We’ll talk another time,” Sansa promised her brother, following Osha’s lead. “Best you don’t keep the big man waiting, brother.”

  Silently, Rickon nodded in agreement. As her sworn arrow and her brother left the room, Sansa took a deep breath, gathering her courage. She stood up from the bed and walked over to where Osha was standing. Sansa placed a tentative hand on the wildling woman’s arm and asked, “I- I’ve been meaning to ask you about it, but with so many preparations and worries going on lately, I’m afraid it slipped by mind. But Osha, do you- can I ask you a question?”

  Snorting, Osha replied, “Seems like you just did, little lady.”

  Sansa smiled faintly at that. She began to rub her hands together, considering the best way to ask what was troubling her.

  “Osha, after you and Rickon left Bran and Hodor and the Reeds, did my brother have a nightmare one night? A nightmare he refused to talk to you about but which you knew was important, and probably not just some random _hunting_ dream?”

  A grin appeared on the wildling woman’s face, before she chuckled sourly, and replied, “I think you knew the answer to that question before you even asked it, girl.”

  _It can’t be true_ , Sansa thought desperately. What she was starting to consider as a reality was right out of Old Nan’s tales, but it was the only explanation she could find to all these dreams her brothers had had and which had ended up turning out to be true. _And there are also the dreams where we are under the direwolves’ skins_.

  “But it can’t be _true_ ,” she whispered without thinking, more to herself than to Osha.Her hand went to her throat.

  “I would’ve thought a princess would have more sense, girl. You know it is true,” the wildling said with a snort, stepping closer to her, even if Sansa had not actually _said_ what she was thinking. “I’ve been waiting for you to speak of it, but yes, Bran had green dreams, and could go on for three days without eating or drinking as he slept and slipped into Summer’s skin. And Rickon has had wolfdreams about the times when your father was killed, as well as when your brother and mother where butchered, I suspect. When the Skagosi first saw him and Shaggydog, they knew at once your brother was a warg. They followed him around as if he was some god too.”

  Sansa covered her mouth with her hand, staring wide eyed at Osha, shaking her head in refusal, thinking only upon one word in her mind.

  _Warg_.

  Sansa had heard that word many times as she grew up. The stories of brave knights and fair ladies had always been her favorites, but since Arya and her brothers and even Theon Greyjoy had cared little for them, Sansa had been outnumbered on almost every occasion, and had therefore acquired a vast knowledge on songs and tales she would have rather not had anything to do with. 

  Whenever Old Nan or her Father told her and her siblings around the stories around the fire of skinchangers, Sansa had always shivered in fear as she imagined a horrible man like the famous wildling Varamyr Sixskins changing into some dark beast, with blood dripping from its fangs.

  “Am I one too?” Sansa heard herself ask Osha.

   The wildling chewed on that a moment, before replying, “You are a Stark. A part of you was your wolf, and your wolf used to be a part of you. Your direwolf may be dead, Sansa, but it’s in your blood. Maybe not as strong as with your brothers, but the bond is there.”

  “How do you know so much about this?” she asked hoarsely, too stunned to do much else.

  “The Free Folk grow up leaning this the way you learn your letters, girl.”

  “Who else knows about this?” she asked in a low voice, winding a lock of hair around her finger.

  “Besides sweet simple Hodor,” Osha answer, “Jojen and Meera and the Skagosi. They thought your brother was some sort of god because of that. I told Rickon to keep quiet and never said a word myself of this to Lord Seaworth cause I reckoned it was none of his concern. Will you tell your husband?”

  Sansa shook her head, still too uncertain to do much else.

  “I don’t know,” she confessed, lowering her voice, and looking at the door to make sure no one was without. “Maybe I will, but do you know what this _means_? If someone finds out, they will call us beastlings, and many will refuse to help us claim back Winterfell.”

  “Then no one must ever find out if we can help it, m’lady,” Osha said solemnly. “Rickon already knows this.”

  _I must be going mad_ , Sansa thought, stepping back till the back of her legs touched the mattress of the bed, and she sat on its edge, her face buried in her hands, reminding herself that she herself _had_ had such dreams before; dreams where she had felt the wet ground beneath her four paws perfectly, and smelled the scents of rain and men and fear before she’d lifted her head up to howl at the moon.

  She never knew how long she and Osha remained like that, in a respectful silence so that Sansa could try to understand and make some sense of what she had just learned. When the wildling woman spoke again though, Sansa looked up at her in surprise, remembering that she was going to have a baby. _Will my child be like me and my siblings?_ There were direwolves left for her or him, so maybe it wouldn’t.

  “How far along are you?” Osha asked.

  “How- how do you?” Sansa wondered, startled.

  “It wasn’t hard guessing it,” Osha replied, snorting. “But it beats me how Hagen and Lord Davos and those Manderlys haven’t guessed yet, what with you and Clegane throwing doe eyes at the other, grinning like only two fools in love all day long.”

  Sansa managed to chuckle weakly in the midst of everything that was happening, before she answered, “Three and a half months. Since the ship, we believe. But please, we want to keep it a secret for a few more days.”

  Osha nodded, before she wondered, “Will you be going to Winterfell now?”

  “No,” Sansa said, shaking her head as memories of her conversation with Sandor about this matter flashed across her mind.

  Nodding in understanding, Osha told Sansa, “Aye, I thought as much. Will Rickon stay here with you?”

  “Yes. I cannot part with him. Not now that I have him back.”

  “I see. Will I be staying?”

  “I- I don’t know,” Sansa admitted. “We haven’t really talked about it yet.”

  _If it was up to me I would have you and Hagen go with Sandor so you could look after him,_ she thought. But her big man wouldn’t agree to it, Sansa knew.

  Osha’s dark eyes turned hard at those words as she regarded Sansa intently. Sansa was certain the wildling woman would object at being parted from little Rickon, but after a dozen silent heartbeats, Osha pointed a finger at her and exclaimed her with a fierce passion Sansa had never heard before, “If I have to leave him, you take care of that boy, Sansa. He may be your brother, but _I’ve_ looked after him long enough to make it my place tell you this. No matter what happens, promise me that you’ll teach that boy not to fear _what_ he is. What you _both_ are.”

  “I promise,” Sansa vowed, startled to see a tear sliding down the wildling woman’s cheek, but nodding fiercely nonetheless. “I promise, Osha.”

 

***

 

  They first people they told about the child were only Rickon, Edar and Osha. The little bird’s sworn arrow laughed and congratulated them both looking pleased and surprised, while Osha only snorted when Sandor and his little wife told her the news, confessing she had suspected it weeks ago.

  When Sansa and Sandor had first told Rickon that they were going to have a child, the lad had looked pleased at the news, asking Sansa why wasn’t her belly fat, before he began questioning them about things Sandor had not even yet spared a sodding thought about.

  “What’s going to be his name?” Rickon had asked first, and before they could answer him he went on with, “Is it a boy or a girl? I hope it’s a boy. Girls are silly and boring and cry all the time. But I remember Arya didn’t. When will he be born? Can I play with him? Can Shaggy play with him? When I am big and he is little, can I help him train like you are helping me, Sandor? What room will we have when we are at Winterfell? Will he be born by the time we are back in Winterfell?”

  “Bloody hells,” Sandor had muttered under his breath once the boy finally shut up, thinking that a cup of wine would help him with his headache, as Sansa laughed beside him, and hugged her brother.

  But when Rickon learned that he was expected to remain behind in White Harbour with his sister and the babe, the Stark heir had not been pleased. The little bird had hoped that by this time Rickon had forgotten most of the wild ways his character had acquired when living in the wild, but Sansa had been wrong.

  “I want to go home!” Rickon had shouted over and over again, crying and running to his bedroom, punching Hagen along the way as the Lorathi tried to stop him. His sister had tried talking to him, but Rickon hadn’t listened. He’d only let his direwolf enter his bedroom, and had even told Osha to go away when she’d brought him his meal.

  Sansa was scared, knowing that gossip of Rickon’s conduct would spread beyond the walls of the New Castle, and after seeing the wide frightened eyes on his wife’s face as she wondered out loud if a dozen spankings wouldn’t help correct her brother’s character, Sandor had decided to go speak to the boy himself, hoping he could stop this even as he helped Rickon understand.  _Let’s see if he listens to_ _me_.

  Sandor opened the door without knocking at that, wondering once again how the fuck he had ended up taking such a direct role in Rickon’s upbringing, whether it was by showing interest in the way the little bird’s brother learned how to be good with a sword and ensure he was cleverer than his father or the Young Wolf; or by wishing to help him cope with the loses of his family; or just by being concerned if the boy got upset or hurt because he could understand better than others could why the boy behaved the way he did.

   Stepping inside the bedroom, with the heavy oak and iron door creaking loudly behind him, Sandor stopped once he saw Rickon lifting up his face from his arms as he sat on the corner of the room, meeting his stare with red-puffy swollen angry eyes. _Those eyes that look just like_ _Sansa’s_.

  The lad’s big black wolf walked over to meet Sandor at the door, sniffing at him once before moving back to sit beside his young master.

  “What do you want?” Rickon asked at once, cleaning his running nose with his arm.

  “To talk,” Sandor answered, shrugging, wondering if this is what it would be like, if all turned out well for them the end, and he got the chance to get to know and raise his own children.

  Sandor looked about the room, noticing that snow was drifting in the window, before he closed the door behind him and walked over to sit on the floor beside Rickon, the burned side of his face to him. The boy didn’t object, for which Sandor was grateful.

  They stayed like that in silence for a long time, before Sandor finally rasped, trying hard to keep the amusement hidden from his voice, “You’ve shocked half the castle, little lord. Poor Edar still has a black eye from where your elbow hit him.”

  Rickon’s eyes quickly met his at that, and though remorse and guilt could be seen on his young tear-glistened face, the lad just hugged his legs tighter, saying sullenly, “I didn’t mean to hurt Hagen. But I don’t care about the others. _No one_ cares about what I want, so I don’t care for them now. I wanted to go home when Lord Davos found me and Osha, but he took me to Braavos. I wanted to go home and instead we come here. We were going home in less than two weeks and now I’m staying behind. I’m staying while others are going to Winterfell in my place. They are not Starks. Winterfell is not their home.”

  “Your sister isn’t going and she’s a Stark,” Sandor pointed out, trying to not say those words with contempt, still hating the thought of leaving his little bird behind with all his guts. “Do you want to leave her alone?”

  “Sansa is having a baby. You can stay with her or she can come too, but she told me she wants to stay here. That’s Sansa. I don’t want to stay here.”

  “You don’t understand, boy,” Sandor growled, rubbing his tired eyes and his scarred temple with his hands. “It’s not that we don’t care for you. We _do_ , and _that’s_ why you have to stay here where it’s safe. Before Sansa was going to look after you as we made our way to your home. But that’s too dangerous for her and for- for our child. Now that she isn’t coming with us, who do you suppose will look after you, Rickon? We can’t afford anyone to look out for you. It’s not a bloody tournament we are heading to after all.

  The north- _your_ north- needs every man, and that’s also why _I_ am going away. I’d much rather stay behind and be with my wife and child, but bugger, I can’t. I need to go win back Winterfell for you and Sansa and the babe. Your bannermen don’t like me, so I have to go prove to those bastards that I’m loyal and true to you and the little bird. The idiots may not know it yet, but before this is all over, they’ll see that they need me. You are young, but not as young as to not to be able to understand most of this.”

  “But I’m Robb’s heir. I should go home with you even if I am little and can’t fight,” Rickon protested, resting the back of his head against the wall behind them. “What am I going to _do_ here? Who’s going to help me train so I can fight better?”

  “Aye, you’re your brother’s heir, Lord Stark” Sandor agreed. “But being a lord is not all fighting, boy. You have to know when battles happened, and why, and between whom and where. You have to learn all that you can about everything and anything, or else you’ll be a foolish lord, and if there’s one thing I won’t allow you to grow up to be if I can help it, is a man that rather than look up to, others laugh at.”

  Young Rickon’s face and that of Shaggy’s looked up at him at that. Regarding him with a frown, thinking about what Sandor had just told him, Rickon sniffed, and bit his lip, turning around to stare at his wolf.

  “Do you know why Theon Greyjoy grew up in Winterfell, Rickon?” Sandor suddenly asked the boy.

  Rickon’s head jerked at once at that towards him.

  “Theon was bad,” he told him.

  “Aye, but do you know why he grew up with your family rather than with his own back in the Iron Islands?”

  Slowly, Rickon shook his head in answer.

  Sandor grinned and lay back on the wall, stretching his long legs before him, as he snarled, “So I take it you don’t know about Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion? Didn’t your maester teach you about what happened back then?”

  If the Starks’ maester ever did, Rickon had forgotten. So Sandor spent the next hour trying to explain to Rickon what had happened all those years ago when mad Balon rebelled against the Iron Throne for the first time, hoping it would prove his point and make Rickon understand that being a lord was more than just being a good warrior.

  He tried to make it interesting for Rickon, and by the eagerness the boy started to show with every tale Sandor told him about his time in Pyke, fighting the fucking iron squids just because he was younger and good at killing and liked it, rather than because he believed in Robert Baratheon’s cause, Sandor believed he’d succeeded. 

  And if he’d had any doubts about it, by the time he and Rickon left the room, he was proved wrong. Rickon surprised him by saying, “The men down at the training yard were talking about Robb the other day.”

  Sandor turned around at that at once. He had been very careful with what Sansa and her brother overheard about their brother and mother, and he preferred to keep it that way. If the stupid cunts that passed off as knights had told the boy any of the gruesome details about the way the Young Wolf and his mother had ended, Sandor was ready to break some necks. _Bloody bastards_.

  Scowling at the mention of those men, Sandor grunted, “Were they? What did they say?”

  “They were calling him the Young Wolf, saying he was a great warrior, and then they saw me and called me over to talk with them. They told me about Robb in his wars and that whenever he let loose Grey Wind among some battle or enemy camp, Robb’s wolf turned into what songs are made of.”

  His mouth began to twitch at that, and Sandor hand moved to rest on his longsword, tightening on its pommel until he was sure his fist had turned white, for he had a very different opinion of Robb Stark and his bloody wars. The memories of a particular day long ago back at the Red Keep when that little shit Joffrey had forced Sansa to be punished for her brother’s victories.

  Sandor had been with Joffrey when the king had received the news, and had known at once that it wouldn’t bode well for the little bird. After he’d escorted her to Joffrey and the others, and she’d been told of how the Young Wolf had defeated Stafford Lannister before his army supposedly feasted on the slain, Sansa had been beaten and her dress had been torn open, revealing her breasts to everyone who’d been present, after Sandor had barked “Enough!”

  He had cursed in relief when the Imp waddled forward to stop Joffrey’s play, throwing his Kingsguard cloak at Sansa so she could cover herself up, even as Sandor felt his insides coil in helpless rage at his inability to do more for her.

  _I’ll never forgive myself for standing by and allowing those sons of whores to beat her bloody_ , Sandor knew, but neither could he forgive Robb Stark for not doing anything to try and save his sister from the lions. Those ghosts from the past would never let him rest, but Sandor didn’t care. He would not let that happen if the choice came to him.

  Sandor must have lost himself in his thoughts, for the next thing he knew Sandor was tugging at his hand, calling out his name.

  “What is it, boy?” Sandor snarled, shaking his head.

  “I was telling you that I want you to do something for me,” Rickon answered, looking up at him with a big wide smile. “Shaggydog will do it if I tell him to, and he’ll even like it, I know.”

  “What do you want?” Sandor growled.

  Rickon took a moment to consider, before exclaiming, “I want to, but you say I am too little to go to war. But you forgot Shaggy. He misses home too, and also wants to fight for Grey Wind and Lady, and Nymeria and Summer. Shaggy is big and will fight, and I‘ll tell everyone that I was the one who asked you to take him. But you’ll have to promise to look out for him because-”

  “What are you getting at?” Sandor spat, frowning as he started to understand where the lad was getting at. _Seven bloody buggering hells!_

  “Shaggy has to follow in Grey Wind’s steps, Sandor. I want you to take him to Winterfell with you.”

  “What?” Sandor roared, surprised. “Fuck Rickon, what the hell are you thinking? I won’t take your wolf away from your side!”

  “But I want you to take him,” Rickon pointed out, before Sandor cut him off with a firm and final, “No. And that’s the last I want to hear about this, understood?”

  That night, Sandor was left speechless when the little bird told him that she agreed with Rickon in wishing for Shaggydog to accompany him to the war.

  “It’ll make him become as ferocious as Robb’s Grey Wind when in battle, darling,” Sansa had told him, reaching out to hold his large hands in her own soft smaller ones. “And if Shaggydog is by your side then there is a little less risk of you coming to some harm.”

  Sandor’s mouth had dropped in utter bloody disbelief, and even though he told Sansa the same words he’d told her brother, pointing out the dangers that could befall her and Rickon if they didn’t have with them the great black beast that was Shaggy, it didn’t matter. The little bird kept at it for three days straight, asking Edar and Rickon himself to back her up, until Sandor agreed to take the blasted damned wolf with him to Winterfell.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep your fingers crossed that one of my last finals tomorrow goes well (tried to do revision, but yeah… anticipation for tonight’s episode gave me a severe case of lack of concentration!) :O Hehe anyways, Thank you to everyone for reading this! Reviews are love ;’)


	50. The Merman's Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> * Onborrowedwings is my beta, and she simply rocks xD  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

  Sansa was glad to see that the afternoon’s preparations inside the Merman’s Court for tonight’s feast were turning out quite well so far, as she walked on  painted crabs, clams and starfish, half-hidden among twisting black fronds of seaweed and the bones of drowned sailors, even as servants hurried all about her.

  “It’s just as I remember it,” Sansa called out to Wylla, while her friend paced atop the dais where her grandfather’s empty cushioned throne stood, hands on her hips.

  Wylla Manderly looked about her with a smile, and Sansa followed suit, staring at the pale sharks that prowled in the blue-green depths painted on the walls to either side, and at the eels and octopuses that slithered amongst rocks and sunken ships. Shoals of herring and great codfish swam between the tall arched windows, and higher up, near where the old fishing nets that dropped down from the rafters, the surface of the sea had been depicted. To Sansa’s right a war galley stroked serene against the rising sun; and to her left, a battered old cog raced before a storm, her sails in rags. Behind the dais a kraken and grey leviathan were locked in battle beneath the painted waves.

  “It used to terrify me when I was little,” Wylla observed, pointing at the white sharks. “But now I find every nook and crevice of this hall beautiful. I will be sorry if the day ever comes when I have to leave, and I won’t be able to come down here to visit grandfather. If we all survive the war and the winter that is, of course.”

  “When I visited with Father and Arya I felt the same,” Sansa admitted, knowing that if she just closed her eyes, memories from her first visit to this city would come back to her in a heartbeat. “I think I was around Rickon’s age, and couldn’t stop looking all around me. It’s both beautiful and- and daunting, I think, to think about what lies beneath the surface of the sea. Not that my sister would agree with me. I remember Arya saying that wolves were not afraid of leviathans or krakens, so why should _she_ fear some stupid painting.”

  Wylla’s expression softened at that, and her friend must have heard the grief and the longing behind Sansa’s words, for it was almost as an afterthought when she suddenly remarked, “This great hall has certainly hosted grander affairs than the one that is going to take place tonight, but we will do our best to make it a memorable occasion, despite the humble fare and all.”

  “I agree,” Sansa replied, gathering herself, and walking over the Myrish carpets that had just been placed to cover the floor with, and which spared them the need to lay down the rushes.

  Serving men were erecting a long trestle table to Sansa’s right, beside the dozen heavy-oak-and-leather chairs that had been brought in here this morning. Two chairs would be placed at the head, and the other four along each side.

  “Let’s see what I’m forgetting,” Wylla said, counting off with her fingers the tasks her eldest sister had appointed her.

  “You’ve forgotten the fresh scented beeswax candles,” Sansa observed, running her hand down the length of a statue in the shape of the merman of House Manderly.

  Wylla cursed, stamping her feet on the dais. “You’re right. Oh my, I’m going mad with all the chores I have to oversee! Thanks to my dearest sister nonetheless.”

  Sansa laughed. “You are not mad, Wylla.”

  “If you don’t think I’m going to end up going mad tonight if Wyn keeps on sending me word of yet another task I must ensure is carried out, I’ll think _you’re_ going mad, Sansa, and where would we be then?”

  “I’ll go see how your sister is faring in the kitchens,” Sansa told Wylla, shaking her head, still giggling, as the youngest Manderly sister observed in resignation that Wynafryd would probably be doing better than her.

  So Sansa left Wylla there, crossing the New Castle’s corridors and hallways, and walking down the shortest flight of stairs she knew led to the kitchens, as she remembered how tonight’s feast had come about in the first place.

  Sandor and she had to oversee the final arrangements for the march to Winterfell with the Manderlys, besides telling them the tidings regarding the baby. So they had summoned a meeting with their hosts, but to Sansa’s surprise and delight, Wyn and Wylla had proposed that instead of just meeting, they should all have a little feast to celebrate their friendship and the time they had been able to spend to get to know each other with a dinner.

  “We can have it in the Merman’s Court,” Wylla had exclaimed excitedly, clapping her hands together. “I only wish we could have a little music and some dancing. We haven’t had the opportunity to dance for so long.”

  Her eyes had seemed to look past Sansa in that moment, as if she had suddenly strayed into a land of memories in her mind compromised of dances and music from long ago.

  Wyn had just shaken her head and added, “I think it would be quite the small affair in comparison to what Wylla is recalling indeed, since we can’t really invite anyone but Uncle Marlon, Lord Rickon, Lord Clegane, Hagen Edar, Osha and Lord Davos. But it would please us greatly to plan it, and to have a pleasant memory to remember you all by when you leave us.”

  Sansa had stared speechless at the sisters, unsure if she should tell them then and there that if they accepted, she was actually planning on remaining in White Harbour once her big man and the other men went away to war for quite some time, but had decided to hold on to the secret till the actual meeting, or rather small feast now, took place.

  So she had just replied to her friends’ suggestion with, “I think that would be lovely,” hoping they would not take offense that she had held back the truth from them for a little while longer.

  Yet the idea of a small feast before the war- before Sandor’s departure- made Sansa very happy, especially since overseeing the preparations alongside Wylla and Wynafryd kept her mind from brooding as much as it normally would’ve at the daunting prospect of what lay in store for her and her husband in the coming months.

  For Sansa knew it was pointless to cling to the belief that there was a possibility that Sandor would arrive back from the winter wars before her time to have their baby approached. She _knew_ that even if the battle for Winterfell against their foes was brief, and the arrangements with Stannis Baratheon could be settled quickly, it was unlikely that her big man would be back in the next months. It was so hard to imagine that she would not be able to kiss or hold him in her arms. To not be together for gods knew how long. But she had to be strong and brave and let him go.

  Sansa sighed long and deep as she left the New Castle’s kitchens, since all seemed well in hand there. Wynafryd was seeing to the mulling of the wine, commanding the cook to bake bread enough for about a dozen people and find a suitable wheel of sharp white cheese.

  _It is not forever_. _Do you really think he would not do everything in his power to come back to you?_ Sansa asked herself after she had left the eldest of the Manderly girls. _To come back to you and the baby?_

  But Sansa would miss Sandor so terribly once he was gone nonetheless. The prospects of carrying a child and preparing herself for what motherhood meant made Sansa feel _whole_ somehow; as if having Sandor’s baby would fill the empty space that having lost so many of her family members had left inside her.

  In a strange way, Sansa’s child already made her feel something she had never felt before- not even with Sandor, but that just ended up making Sansa remember that Sandor and she would have to face the upcoming months all on their own, away from each other. _He won’t even be here to experience the anticipation and nerves and thrill that the prospect of becoming a father will mean_.

  The constant hope Sansa could cling to in an attempt to live another day with her head held high and smile on her face was that her big man and she could have more children one day, making up for the lost time in the dreadful months of parting. That was what was keeping Sansa from falling apart, succumbing to her tears and fears and uncertainties.

  _Just please gods, please let Sandor come back to me safe and sound_ , she prayed to the old gods and the new, as she made her way outside to the castle grounds, covering her shoulders with the shawl that was hanging loose about her shoulders, to keep the cold winds at bay.

  Snow had stopped falling on White Harbour days ago, but the weather was colder than before now. Treading carefully through the white grounds lest she slipped, Sansa found her footsteps leading her to the New Castle’s stables. She still had to bathe and wash her hair and change for the feast, but Sansa told herself there was time enough still for that.

  She suspected she knew where Sandor and the others were, and her assumption was confirmed when she saw Hagen, Osha and Lord Davos gathered beside a tree outside the stables, the last two laughing at Hagen as the Lorathi failed to impress them from what Sansa could hear at a distance with some of his most daring schemes from his days as an outlaw. Shaggydog was sitting on his hind legs behind the group, as if waiting for his master. Sansa stared at the wolf, not looking away when the black beast’s green eyes met her own and held her stare, remembering what Osha and she had discussed the other day about the chance that the reason behind Sansa’s dreams was that she was a skin changer.

  _Warg_. That single word sent shivers down Sansa’s spine, because it seemed as if taken right from one of Old Nan’s stories she had feared to hear so much as a child. After _father died I understood that the stories and songs could not exist in the real world, whether they were tales of knights and their ladies fair, or of grumpkins or other monsters beyond the wall_. And therefore, what the wildling woman had confessed to Sansa had shaken up every belief and experience she had come to develop throughout the past years, and now Sansa was unsure as to what she should do about it.

  But all of her past experiences with stories seemed of little consequence now.  She would never have dared to even consider this mad strange reasoning as something that could actually _really_ be happening to people, but once the wildling woman pointed it out to her, the thought never left Sansa, and she had to admit that if this was the truth, many of the things she had experienced so far with relation to her dreams would make much more sense.

  Sansa had worried at the mad possibility of being a skin changer like a dog at some old bone on many a night, tossing and turning well past midnight on her bed, listening to the wind howl outside her bedroom’s windows, considering what being a warg could _mean_ , resisting falling asleep, fearing what her dreams would end up being about.

  This had precisely been the main reason behind why had she agreed to have Shaggydog part from Rickon’s side in the first place, joining Sandor in the road to war. Sansa had been surprised at first when she heard that her little brother was willing to part with his wolf, but as Sandor went on telling her about the conversation between him and Rickon about Shaggydog following in Robb’s Grey Wind’s footsteps, the more Sansa had convinced herself that it was not such a bad thing to do.

  The sharp realization had hit Sansa that were she _truly_ a warg, then if Shaggydog went with Sandor to the wars, she would probably be able to know at times what was happening with Sandor and his camp, were she to dream again that she was inside Shaggy’s skin.

  Sansa had not yet confessed to Sandor the true reason behind her backing up Rickon’s plea to allow the black direwolf to go to war though, not having mustered enough courage to tell her husband what Osha had said that Rickon and she were. Not because she feared Sandor would take it badly, but what could she possibly tell him? _If he finds out why I really want Shaggy to be around him, he won’t like it one bit._

  Sansa knew Sandor would not judge or condemn her or Rickon for this rare connection they had with the direwolves, but she was certain that Sandor would do everything in his power to make sure Shaggy remained by her and her brother’s side, rather than his, fearing for their sakes more than he had ever feared for his.

  Raising her hand now to wave it in greeting at her friends once they caught sight of her, the others greeted her with the same gesture just before she stepped inside the stables, feeling warmer at once inside the large building. _The baby wouldn’t be able to have a direwolf that was truly his or hers though_ , Sansa knew, recalling Lady. Sansa wondered if her child would also have the wolf dreams her siblings and she had or not. _I had Lady, who was Shaggy’s sister, but who would my baby have?_

  Sansa looked about her as she walked down the long aisle that led to the other side of the stables, between the stalls. This place could house at least five and twenty horses, and at present only three were empty.

  “That’s it,” Sansa heard a rough voice say. “See if he’s breathing easily.”

  Sansa could not help but stifle a giggle then, as she thought, _I guess the baby would have a big, loyal and strong former hound to guard her or him_.

  “I think he is,” Rickon answered, before he turned around and caught sight of Sansa and waved at her. “But I can’t really see his face. He isn’t looking my way.”

  Sansa heard her husband snort just before she came to stand in front of Stranger’s stall, smiling as she stared at Sandor, crouched beside his warhorse as he rubbed down the black destrier’s legs with a warm thick blanket, to make sure the horse was warm. She saw that her big man was wearing patched brown breeches and his favourite pair of scuffed old boots. _He really likes to take care of his horse_. There was no denying Sandor loved Stranger very much.

  She could not help but giggle as she imagined the terror in the faces of the Freys and the Boltons as they turned around and ran in fright as fast as they could from Sandor, Stranger and Shaggydog. _My big man will look like the Stranger himself with such ferocious black beasts by his side_.

  Sansa shook her head at the sight presently before her, recalling fleetingly the afternoon when Sandor had left her speechless as he came back from a ride, telling her that when he left White Harbour, he was going to leave Stranger behind with her, along with his armour and his longsword, since he wished for her to have enough valuable goods to sell if the need arose when he was away, and Stranger would bring quite the high prize anywhere in the world.

  It had taken Hagen’s confession about how he had enough coin saved in the Iron Bank to help Sansa and Sandor in their cause through the winter or for any other need that may arise, whether it was them fleeing for their lives or just the city or the troops needing provisions, to make Sandor relent at last and promise to Sansa that he would end up taking his destrier to the war, as well as his armour and longsword.

  Hagen told a surprised Sandor of the coin that Amon, the Edar’s old steward, had given him, and of how he had saved most of it in the Iron Bank, intending to discreetly help her and Sandor and the north in their fight against the Boltons and all the rest of them.

  Osha had already told her back in Braavos all of this, but Sansa had pretended that their conversation had never taken place as her sworn arrow went on with his confession. Sansa had thanked Hagen kindly after her efforts at attempting to make sure the Lorathi had no intentions to change his mind about what would happen to his coin.

  “Don’t you worry about it, Sansa,” her friend had assured her. “If you are sent word supplies are needed- or if you see fit to buy provisions and what else for White Harbour, please don’t hesitate and take my coin.

  I brought some with me from Braavos. It won’t last forever, so be careful with not spending it too soon, since I am sure it’ll be needed sorely before this long bloody winter ends, but the Iron Bank gave me a valid note with their signature and seal that would allow only you to withdraw any amount you see fit”

  “Oh Hagen,” Sansa had replied, really speechless and thankful for this act of generosity as she took her faithful sworn arrow’s hands in hers. “Is there nothing Sandor and I can do for you to-?”

  “Nothing, but promise me to keep this matter between ourselves and your big man,” Edar had answered, winking at her as only people who share a secret do as Sandor thanked him and actually patted the Lorathi on the back.

  The neigh of a horse nearby brought Sansa’s mind back to the present.

  “How is he doing?” Sansa asked her husband with a soft smile on her face.

  Sandor raised his head from Stranger’s legs in her direction at once at her words, and the burned side of his face split into a wide warm grin as his grey eyes met hers. Her big man knew who was she referring to, and answered, as he went on rubbing his animal’s legs, “As well as might be expected. Half the time he’s as alert as any colt can be, and the other half he’s spending it nursing at his mother’s.”

  “He’s been doing that since yesterday,” Rickon told Sansa, grabbing her hand and leading her to the stall next to Stranger’s. “It’s boring.”

  Sansa winked at her big man before she turned around and chucked, exclaiming, “Oh they look so sweet together!”

  There were no other words to describe it. To see Nan, her sweet gentle mare, nursing her one day old jet black colt made Sansa’s heart contract with emotion, and she could already begin to feel just as overwhelmed as she had been yesterday, both when Nan was birthing Stranger’s colt, and when the foal stood up for the first time.

  It had all happened yesterday around midday. The stable boy had come running to meet her as she walked the walls with Hagen Edar and Sandor, and told them that her horse’s time had arrived. They had all run to the stables then, and had seen the whole birth’s process from beginning to end. Stranger didn’t seem to know he was becoming a father, snorting loudly in annoyance at having so many people disturbing the tranquility of his stall for so long, but besides that, all had gone well.

  Sansa was so proud of her strong Nan, and tears of joy had slid down her cheeks as she watched the foal come into this world, wondering if she would live through her confinement and the birth with the same quiet determination her Nan had. Sansa had not even realized she’d been crying until Sandor raised a hand to wipe her tears away with his thumb.

  _I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since we went to that paddock in Great Norvos_ , _when Nan was in heat_ , Sansa had thought then, sniffing as she stood on tip toe to kiss Sandor’s cheek.

  Her and her husband’s lives had been so different in those days. Back then they had pretended to be Edric and Alysane, and had spent their days with dear Vintos and Frema, and their nights in their little house at _The Three Bells_ inn and boarding house, trying to pretended that the High Magister of the city had not taken a painfully acute interest in them- in her.

  _We’ve lived through so much since then_ , Sansa remembered. From Arman Nervere’s memorable ball, to the horrible days that had followed that event, made unforgettable not only because of the first kiss that had occurred between Sandor and she, but because of Sandor’s trial and the near brush with death during the duel with Arman.

  _And then there was the caravan journey through the Hills of Norvos, where we met Hagen before we took shelter at old Hrolf’s castle by the sea._ Their stay in Lorath followed after that, and then Braavos, their voyage across the Narrow Sea, their time in the wild northern lands, and finally their current time here in White Harbour.

  But it was even more astonishing to realize that it had been around a year and a half since Sansa had been a hostage to the Lannisters, before Sandor fled the city, taking her along with him on a journey that would see them survive the Kingswood, Pentos and the long and lonely Valyrian roads. _Yet through it all, there is one thing that remains as constant as ever, if not stronger. The love Sandor and I have for each other, and which has only been growing stronger since we first became more than just Joffrey’s abused future queen and his Hound_.

  “I want to play with him,” Rickon was exclaiming beside her, standing on a stool so that he could see inside Nan’s stall.

  Sansa looked down at her little brother with a sad smile, remembering how she had told Sandor the other day that her brother must feel lonely, since there were no boys his age he could play with.

  “Not yet, Rickon,” Sansa replied kindly. “He has to be with his mother.”

  “Do you think he’ll get scared if he sees Shaggy?”

  “Yes,” Sansa answered at once. “Stranger’s the one who who’s become Shaggydog’s best friend, you know. Not Nan, and certainly not her foal. At least not for a long time.”

  “Oh,” Rickon replied, frowning as he returned his attention to Nan and the dark colt.

  “We can train him to not fear Shaggy later, but we can still change his name right now though,” Sansa dared proposed, though she already knew what her brother would say.

  “No, I like the name Horse,” Rickon answered, making Sandor chuckle as he stepped outside his destrier’s stall and strode over to stand beside Sansa, drawing her closer to him as he casually wrapped his large hand around her waist.

  Sansa sighed deeply, shaking her head in disapproval of the name, regretting having accepted her brother’s proposition to be the one who named the foal yesterday afternoon.

  She had been thinking on naming the coal Strider, while Sandor tried to come up with another blasphemous name for Stranger’s foal that could match his sire’s, and both of them had been curious enough when Rickon asked them if he could be the one to come up with the name. Sansa had nodded in agreement; thinking her little brother would say something like Longlegs or Highhooves.

  But Rickon had ended up coming up with names like Fang, Darky, Horse and Shaggydog the Second of His Name, making Sansa’s mouth drop open and her eyes grow wide in horror, and drawing throaty raucous laughter from Sandor. What had left Sansa speechless was not the fact that in the end her little brother had settled for the name Horse, but the fact that her big man had actually sided with Rickon, and told him that was a good name for the colt.

   Sansa wasn’t quite sure what to make out of a horse called Horse, and just as she had began to imagine how proud she would be to see her child one day riding Nan and Stranger’s foal, Sandor had made the colt a gift to Rickon, saying that he wished for her brother to have a horse now that he would be parting with his direwolf, since Sandor would be taking Shaggy to war. 

  “How is the feast coming along?” Sansa’s big man asked her, leaning down to kiss her forehead while he placed a large hand over her tummy.

  Sansa closed her eyes for a moment, relishing the warmth and smell of her husband’s body, despite the strong smell of horse to him, and ran her hands up Sandor’s stained leather jerkin, fisting the fabric of his green tunic beneath her hands, as she replied, “Splendidly. Wylla and Wyn can run a castle as well as my lady mother ran Winterfell’s household.”

  “You could do a better job with that than any of them any time,” Sandor rasped in her ear, making her giggle as the rough stubble of his cheek brushed her earlobe.

  At the sound, Sansa’s little brother turned around, and when he saw the way Sandor was hugging her, and the way she was trying hard to keep from laughing in her husband’s arms, Rickon made a sound of disgust and quickly ran away, seeking the other’s company outside the stables.

  Sansa could not help herself and laughed happily at that, shaking her head at her little brother’s behavior because that was just the way sweet Bran or Arya would have reacted, while Sandor only snorted and held her closer, commenting, “He’ll like girls soon enough.”

  “I suppose he will,” Sansa agreed, as Sandor chuckled, a sour sound, part rumble, part a snarl, and Stranger’s head suddenly appeared from above his stall’s door to stare and neigh at them, calling his master back to him, for all the good it did the poor new black coated father, since in those moments Sandor had slid his hands to cup Sansa’s bottom, making her squeal between her giggles, and stammer, “Sandor, don’t do that here!”

  Yet her husband didn’t listen to her, and even slapped her down there, earning him a punch on his forearm from her fist. When she raised her eyes to Sandor’s grey ones once their laughter had died subsided, her husband lowered his head forward until his forehead was resting on hers, their noses touching and kissed her quickly, before he asked, “How have you been feeling today?”

  Sansa could not help but smile at that, a little amused because ever since they had found out that she was expecting their child, Sandor would always ask her about twenty times a day how was she feeling.

  “I’m all right,” she told him, giving him another kiss as they rubbed their noses together. “Earlier today I felt that pain near my ribs I was telling you about, but it quickly went away.”

  “Bugger, little bird, why the seven hells-” Sandor began to growl at her in a voice that sounded like two wood saws grinding together, laying his heavy hands on her shoulder.

  She interrupted him by placing a finger on his scarred lips, saying, “I am feeling much better now that I am with you, so please don’t start telling me that I should take a seat or go lie down, love. It’s sweet of you, but you have to trust me when I tell you I’m fine.”

  Sansa’s big man looked like he was about to protest, but something shifted in his eyes as he regarded her with a frown, and in the end he only snarled some protests but didn’t go on about the mild cramps she had started to feel of late near her ribs and chest, but which she had been assured was not an uncommon pain.

  Wrinkling her brow as Sandor started rubbing her shoulders, Sansa turned around to look at Nan and Horse, saying once again, “They are _so_ beautiful, aren’t they?”

  Sandor stare didn’t follow hers. He remained looking down at her as he rasped, “Yes you are,” and reached out to brush her cheekbone with his knuckles.

  “I was talking about the horses,” she muttered, already feeling herself blush at the compliment.

  “I wasn’t,” Sandor replied.

  Sansa returned her gaze to Sandor. Her smile grew wider at the look on his face as he went on staring her with a calm grin, and opened her mouth to thank him, but no words came out. _He knows already what I feel and want to thank him just by looking at me_ , Sana knew.

  “When will I be able to-?” she began to ask, reaching out for Sandor’s hand with her own.

  “You could right now,” he answered with a shrug.  Sandor had spent enough time already with Nan and Horse, so the foal could start trusting him at once. “But I think its best that we wait till tomorrow morning when we take him outside. Nan won’t mind your presence, but the stall is too small in case Horse tries to run.

  “All right,” Sansa agreed with a nod.

  “He’ll know you soon enough if you keep at it, Sansa,” Sandor told her moments later as they started walking down the middle aisle of the stables, after Sansa remarked that they should really start getting ready for the feast. “So make sure to talk and touch him a lot the way I taught you, and I reckon that by the time I go away, you won’t need me to be around anymore.”

  Sansa stopped walking at those words, letting go of Sandor’s hand, and causing him to stop talking and turn around to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

  “That’s not possible,” she whispered, looking at her husband with wide eyes that were as full of love for him as they were of concern and care. “I am always going to need you, regardless of whether you are here with me or not. We _both_ will.”

  “Sansa,” Sandor rasped, his eyes leaving her face to settle on her tummy. “Do you know how much I’m going to fucking miss you, little bird?”

  “Yes,” she answered, truthfully.

  She could tell just how much those words meant to him- how grateful he was to her for them too. Sansa could as well he feel the strong beating of his heart as they left the building side by side, her arm going around Sandor’s waist even as he placed his own arm  around her shoulders.

  “Sansa, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” her husband continued as they walked out of the stables, frowning.

  “What is it?” she asked him, braiding a strand of her auburn hair.

  Sandor looked around for a moment, and rasped, “Let’s not go meet with the others just yet. I don’t want to be around anyone right now.”

  “All right,” she agreed, and they started walking around the grounds of the New Castle.

  “What is it you wanted to tell me?” she wondered, once they were far away from where Rickon, Hagen and the others were at.

  Sandor’s turned his head to his sides to make sure there was nobody around, before he answered, “We haven’t yet talked about how we should call the babe.”

  Sansa blinked up at her big man, her mouth hanging open in a small O, before she stammered, “Oh- yes. Yes, you are right.”

  If she was honest with herself, she had not expected that Sandor would bring this matter up himself. _She_ had thought about what names their child should be called, but the thought of her husband spending his time doing the same was quite a pleasant surprise for Sansa.

  “Have- what names have you thought of?” she asked Sandor once he failed to say anything else himself, as they walked past the currently deserted training yard.

  Nodding, he replied, “I’m running out of reasons why we shouldn’t call him after your father, little bird.”

  Sansa could not help but draw a little intake of breath at that as she stared up at her love with wide eyes. Over the last couple of days she had found herself wondering what name their son should bear, alternating in her decision between either her lord father’s name, or one of her brother’s, but the moment her big man growled the former, Sansa knew it was just _right_.  

  Not for the first time the intrigue of what exactly Sandor really thought of her father crossed Sansa’s mind then _. He came to mock him and his honour to my face, but that was long ago, and we were so very different back then_ , Sansa reasoned. _Father can’t remind me of Sandor in more than one way at times for nothing_.

  “Our child will be born in winter, Sansa,” Sandor suddenly snarled, stopping beside the shade of a tree, making Sansa realize that she had been so lost in her own thoughts she had forgotten to voice what she thought of Sandor’s proposition.

  He grabbed her hand and led her towards the hidden grey bench behind it. Once they had sat on it her big man cupped Sansa’s face under her jaw, and lifted it upwards so that she could look at his burned face.

  “He’ll be a proper little northman of an old line, and I reckon that Rickon’s bannermen would like it,” her husband further explained. “They can go on the way they always do, hating _me_ all they like, but my son is going to be one of them, and they should do best if they never forgot that, and stopped dwelling on the fact that it is going to be the former Lannister Hound’s pup. Calling Eddard Stark’s first grandson in his honour will make sure no one ever does.”

  _He may not be here for the baby’s birth, but he can at least choose its name_ , Sansa told herself, her heart beating a little faster for the bittersweet meaning of that thought, her tummy already clenching painfully, twisting into knots, at the memory that these were her last days with her big man. _He must see me happy in these last couple of days, so that the memories he takes with him to war are of my smiles and kisses, not my tears and worries_.

  And so Sansa smiled, her dimples appearing in both cheeks, and reached out to encircle the wrist of the hand Sandor had on her face, saying softly, “I could not agree more, dearest. It would mean a lot to _me_ , not only the north, to name our son after my father.”

  Her big man could tell that she meant every word, and therefore grinned as he let his eyes roam over her with a sudden hungry light shining in the grey waters of his eyes. Sansa returned his grin with a raised eyebrow, and suddenly teasingly asked, half in suspicion, and half in amusement, “But big man, wait a moment. You’re speaking as if you were completely and utterly certain that our baby is going to be a boy, my love, but what if we have a little girl? Shall we go ahead and call her Eddara then? It’s not an uncommon name here in the north. If I recall correctly I think that’s how Ser Helman Tallhart’s daughter is called, you know. ”

  “Fuck no,” Sandor answered at once, with a sour chuckle. “Please not Eddara, little bird.”

  Laughing, Sansa shook her head and moved her hand below the sleeve of Sandor’s heavy woollen tunic, caressing the hairy skin of his wrist and arm there. 

  “I would like if it was a girl,” Sandor admitted casually a heartbeat later, with a shrug as he let go of her chin only to move his large hand to rest on her neck, his fingers encircling her neck as his thumb started brushing her cheekbone back and forward. “But I’m bloody certain we’ll have a son.”

  “But _how_ can you be so sure?” she insisted.

  “Because boys are more common in my family than girls,” he answered with a shrug. “And apparently so are in the Starks, seeing as you had four brothers and only one sister.”

  “Oh,” she said, realizing there was truth behind Sandor’s words. _Father had two brothers as well_. _Uncle Benjen and Uncle Brandon_. “Yes, I suppose you could be right.”

  Sansa wasn’t completely sure yet what her baby could end up being, but she wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass now that the moment had presented itself.

  “We’ll call him Eddard if it’s a boy,” Sansa agreed. “But only if we can call our baby after your sister if it’s a little girl.”

  She could see that Sandor had not been expecting that, and in that first moment after she had uttered those words her love’s scarred face- that face which had mastered the skill of hiding its true thoughts behind a mask of indifference- was like an open book to Sansa; a book which contained surprise, unease, and a hint of some emotion she could not quite discern.

  “You want to call her _Arwyn_?” Sandor rasped incredulous, his arms dropping to his sides as the corner of his lip started to twitch. “Are you sure, Sansa?

  The shadows of his past were coming back to haunt Sandor’s mind at this though, and Sansa did not care for her husband to dwell in them, so she just nodded in complete certainty.

  Ever since she first began to imagine a future in which Sandor and she could be married and have children together, naming one of their daughters in honour and memory of the long lost sister Sandor had known when he was just a boy, and which the horrible Mountain had murdered, had been something Sansa had wanted to do, and she was not going to back out of it now.

  “Yes,” she told her big man, assuring him that she was not joking. “And I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life, my love.”

  “Seven hells,” Sandor muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “I always thoughts you’d want to name her after your mother or something, little bird.  Though certainly not after that wolf girl of a sister you had.”

_Oh Arya_. Sansa looked away, not prepared to hear her sister brought up in those moments. She closed her eyes briefly, making sure the pain that crossed her expression was hidden from Sandor’s view, before she said in tremulous hoarse voice, “Sandor, could I ask you to do something for me, please?”

  “You know you can.”

  Straightening her shoulders in determination, Sansa said in a strong clear resolute voice, “If- if Arya ends up being the girl they married to Roose Bolton’s bastard, and is being held captive in Winterfell, please bring my sister back to me, big man. Please promise me you’ll do your best to make sure she lives through it all.”

  Sandor reached out to clasp her chin with his large hand, and as he made her turn her face around so he could regard her intently, her big man ended up snarling roughly after a long moment of consideration, “Yes, Sansa. I promise to bring you your sister back if I find her.”

  “Thank you,” Sansa replied, smiling sadly as she supposed that one day, if the old gods and the new were good ad willing, one of her girls could very well take after Arya, since Sandor shared the characteristic traits of a man of the north.

  _Maybe that is what Sandor has that reminds me of Father. The dark hair and grey eyes, and quiet nature. And Sandor once told me the Cleganes were descendants of the First Men after all. He’s already a Northerner, and we should all care to remember that._ Sansa would make certain they did.

  “I know that it would mean to you just as much as it would for me to have our first girl called after your sister, or our first son after my father, Sandor,” Sansa told her husband now, wishing for the first time that rather than just one, she was instead carrying twins inside her.

  “My bird,” was all her big man told her, clearly moved as he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

  “Neddie and Arwyn Clegane,” Sansa whispered her heart full of hope once again at both at the pleasant feeling of Sandor’s mouth on her skin, and at how those words sounded together.

  “Bugger, there’s this other thing though,” Sandor told her, meeting her eyes once again. “I don’t think the children should be called after me alone, little bird. I think they should be named Eddard or- or Arwyn of Houses Stark and Clegane.”

  “But,” Sansa objected at once, taken aback. “But- but Sandor, you are their father. Surely you cannot wish for them to bear your house name after mine? Shouldn’t they be just Clegane?”

  She had understood the necessity behind  Sandor’s inclination to encourage her to call herself Sansa Stark rather than Sansa Clegane ever since the days when they had crossed the Narrow Sea, leaving Essos behind them, but she had not expected her husband to share a similar view when it came to their children.

  “Under the circumstances, little bird, I don’t think so,” Sandor snarled, reaching out to grab her hand. “The world has to know that the Starks were not defeated, and our pups and birdlings should therefore all be called after both of us.”

  “But- but dear, in the north that’s not the custom-”

  “It surely isn’t, but it isn’t outlandish either, Sansa,” Sandor pointed out. “Bugger the custom. Are you forgetting who you are and who I am? You’re as highborn as they come, and my family were just landed knights. You know every house and every sodding sigil in Westeros, but do you know why are the Dornish called Nymeros Martell and not just Martell?”

  Sansa nodded, remembering against her will Prince Dorna’s stranged wife, Mellario, and the woman’s connection to Arman Nervere.

  “Because Queen Nymeria was of the higher birth, and Prince Mors was just a lord at the time they married,” she answered.

  “Aye, clever bird,” Sandor agreed, reaching out to stroke her hair as Sansa gave his hand a squeeze. “And while Martell had an army to offer the queen and the Rhoynish who were mad enough to follow her to Dorne, I only have my sword and my love to give you and your brother and the babe. The least I could do for our son, or our little bird, would be to allow the Stark Clegane line to be born.

  They say your brother lost the north because he married the wrong person, among other things. They won’t be saying things like that of you, Sansa. Or of our child if I can help it. You two are Rickon’s heirs now, and-”

  “Sandor, please stop,” Sansa interrupted in a quiet voice, shaking her head and digging her nails into her hand. She could feel the fear in her tummy twisting and pinching in response to how worried Sandor’s words made her. _This isn’t right_. _He doesn’t have to prove anything to me._ The men of the north may be another matter, but Sandor was her husband by her own choosing after all, wasn’t he?

  “Don’t say such things. If- if you really think it would indeed be better for our children to be Stark Clegane, then I agree...”

  Later that day, when night had fallen, Sansa’s big man escorted her to the Merman’s Court, her hand on his arm, and a nervous smile on her face as Sandor kept assuring her that all would turn out well in the meeting, and Wyn and Wylla would not object at having her remain in the New Castle with them.

  “You know they won’t mind _you_ and _Rickon_ staying here with them, little bird,” Sandor muttered, looking ahead of them down at the empty corridor. “So stop fidgeting.”

  Sansa could distinguish the anger that lay behind Sandor’s rough rasp as he answered her well enough, but chose to pretend that she did not, not wishing to get into another argument with her husband regarding something that they had been arguing about for days now.

_Neither of us will be happy with the outcome of it once we settled it in any case_ , Sansa gathered, thinking once again about who would it be best to stay with her in White Harbour between Hagen and Osha, and who should go join Sandor on the road to war. _Only time will tell if the choices we end up deciding will be the right ones_. Sansa wanted both the wildling woman and her sworn arrow to accompany Sandor to Winterfell, but her big man wanted them both to remain here behind with her.

 

**

 

  With a shake of the head, Sansa began to smooth down her skirts in an attempt to distract her nerves. She was wearing a dark blue velvet gown slashed with silver that woke all the colour in her eyes. The fluttering feeling in her tummy was too much, and Sansa even hit her hand once with the hilt of Sandor’s longsword beside her, and was somewhat relieved when they finally reached the thick oak and iron doors that had been erected at the entrance of the New Castle’s great hall.

  Wylla and Wyn greeted her at once with open arms, and even smiled and curtsied at Sandor, asking him how he was doing. Sansa saw that Ser Marlon, Osha and Hagen and Lord Davos were already in the hall, all of them with a cup of wine in their hands.

  “Osha told us that little lord Rickon could not manage to stay awake,” Wylla told Sansa, as they joined their friends beside the roaring fire that was blazing in the great hearth.

  “He was looking forward to it,” Sandor commented, looking about the hall, taking in the beauty of the Merman’s Court now that all of its decorations had been brought in, with a smile.

  The candles had all been lit; the hall smelled of nutmeg and other costly spices. The long trestle table and the heavy-oak-and-leather chairs were waiting for them.

  “My lady,” Ser Marlon said, kissing Sansa’s hand, making her return her attention to the people before her. “Clegane.”

  “Lady Sansa,” the Onion Knight mumbled, giving her a modest smile before he started looking at his feet, and raised the hand that lacked the joints of his fingers to his neck as if searching for something.

  Sansa tried hard to keep herself from chuckling as she recalled that ever since that morning when Davos had walked in on her wearing nothing but her corset and skirts, The Onion Knight would turn the most embarrassing shade of red when he was around her. Her big man had told Sansa that Lord Davos had confessed to him that he had been certain Sandor would hit him for having stumbled upon her in her undergarments.

  “Good evening, Lord Seaworth,” Sansa greeted Stannis’ Hand with a smile, winking up at her husband beside her. Sandor returned the gesture by discreetly caressing the small of her back.

  “So Clegane,” Ser Marlon said without preambles. “Ready to face our northern winters, are you?”

  “I am,” Sandor replied without a trace of hesitation or fear in his raucous voice, crossing his arms about his chest as Sansa looked away from him, taking a deep breath as she remembered that she was not meant to face the long winter with her husband by her side.

  “We are ready to leave as we had planned,” Sandor was saying. “The men are as ready as they will ever be. There is no point in delaying the date we decided any longer.”

  _Yes_ , _there is no point in delaying_ , Sansa silently agreed, lowering her gaze to the floor lest her face betrayed her secret or her pain.

  She and Sandor had actually considered him remaining in White Harbour for just a few more days, but when they’d asked Hagen’s opinion, their friend had replied, “Just for a few more days you say? And what then? What will you do when those days are over? You can’t run away or avoid stumbling with what the future has in store for you.”

  They could see the wisdom in Edar’s words of course, and so now Sansa and Sandor only had just a few more days together and that was it.

  “How many men will you be taking with you?” the elderly knight was presently asking Sansa’s big man.

  “Around thirty,” Sandor answered, gulping down his wine and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “The ones who won’t so readily drop their blades and piss themselves at the first blow of a war horn.

  “And I’ll keep on training the ones that stay behind, as well as the ones that arrive from the other towns and villages. And then I’ll send a few to you as soon as I see they are fit for the task. But most must stay here to guard White Harbour.”

  “Is there any word of where Stannis is or how he’s faring?” Sandor enquired.

  “There haven’t been any new tidings of the king’s whereabouts,” Davos answered sadly.

   “Yes, well, regardless of Stannis, you’ve won my respect, Clegane, I have to admit,” Wylla and Wyn’s uncle expressed, as he raised his cup in Sandor’s direction for a toast. “And I’ll tell the men as much before you set out for Winterfell. I’ll tell knights and soldiers alike that you’ve earned my respect, and that they are lucky to have acquired such a seasoned commander as yourself to lead their garrison to war. A toast to Lady Sansa’s husband!”

  Sansa smiled and raised her wine cup along with the others, and they toasted to the health of a very uncomfortable Sandor.

  Afterwards they all made some small talk before heading over to the long trestle table, sitting down on the heavy-oak-and-leather chairs. Sansa and Wynafryd took the seats at both heads of the table, with the others settling to their right and left.

  Sandor sat down beside to her right, and Sansa could not help but smile as he reached out and place his hand on her knee, for it somehow felt fulfilling to know that the days were long gone where her husband had been her sworn shield, and rather than being expected to share her table he was supposed to stand guard behind her chair.

  They began their little feast with a warm tasty stew of mussels, cods, crabs, winkles and whitefish, accompanied by white cheese, olives and bread. There were three different types of wine for them to drink, and a variety of elaborate plates, compromised of lobster, salted fish, lamprey pie, and vension roasted with chestnuts. As they ate and drank, Lord Davos and Sandor asked about the news the ravens had brought in the afternoon, and were told by Ser Marlon of the events that had occurred in the past weeks in the Seven Kingdoms. 

  Sansa was startled to hear of Cersei Lannister’s walk of shame through the streets of King’s Landing, but since almost everyone in the table seemed to notice her discomfort, they quickly turned the talk to Euron Greyjoy and his attempts to invade the Reach, and of these holy brothers that called themselves sparrows that had been taking power all over Westeros after the Iron Throne allowed them to have an army of their own once again.

  Sandor turned to look at Sansa with discretion more than once during dinner, and Sansa knew that her big man would wait until she thought it best to finally announce the news about her baby, but so far, Sansa hadn’t found the right opportunity to do so.

  _Or maybe I’m just fooling myself_ , Sansa considered. _It has nothing to do with the reason behind it, but_ _maybe I just don’t want to confirm that Sandor and I will be parted soon_.  

  The right moment to announce the tidings of her child arrived when Sansa would have least expected it. It was when the talk around the table turned to the hundreds of wildlings Sansa’s brother Jon had allowed to cross the Wall, and the rumours of giants been spied near the shores of Eastwatch-by-the-sea. Ser Marlon had asked Osha to comment on her opinion on this, and they all listened attentively and considered what the wildling woman had to say about the Free Folk.

   Sansa had been thinking about Jon and the way she had once treated him, hoping that he would not hold her behaviour from when she was a little girl against her, when Wylla suddenly turned to look at Osha, saying excitedly as she reached for the wildling’s hand, “Don’t worry, Osha. We are all taught when little to fear the Free Folk, but now that I’ve come to know you I see how not all of those tales we were told by our wet nurses and septas can be true. I am sure that the Northern troops will come to appreciate you and your people’s efforts once they see how skilled and courageous a spearwife like yourself can be during battle.”

  Those words managed to break Sansa from her reverie, and she straightened in her chair, shifting around in immediate self awareness. Osha had looked with a raised eyebrow at Wylla Manderly even as Hagen and Sandor turned to look at Sansa. It was then when she met Sandor’s grey eyes that Sansa knew the time had come. _If I don’t say it now I never will_.

  So she folded her hands on her lap and coughed politely, breaking the momentary silence that had settled on the Merman’s Court, drawing everyone’s attention to her. Sansa covered her tummy with her hand as if just by touching her child she could find a secret source of strength within her from which where she could draw strength, and said softly, “We are not sure yet if Osha will have the opportunity to fight in some battle, for she may not be going to Winterfell.”

  The Manderlys looked at her with raised eyebrows, silently asking her what she could possibly mean by that. So Sansa, shouldering her reserve, continued with, “And the reason for that is because I am with child.”

 

**

 

  A sharp intake of breath from the Manderly sisters greeted the little bird’s revelation, followed by a stunned silence as they looked at Sansa, then at him, then at the others, and then at each other, before returning their gaze to Sandor’s wife, all the time staring with eyes as wide as saucers. Ser Marlon’s reaction was the one Sandor had been more interested to watch, yet the man just blinked at first, but didn’t really seem surprised at the news, nor angry. Sandor reached out for his wife’s hand under the table in those moments, giving it a squeeze.

  Sansa turned to look at Sandor for a moment before Wynafryd finally remarked as she clasped her hands together, “Oh Sansa! That is _so_ wonderful!”

  The little bird sighed in relief, and smiled a little as Wylla Manderly remarked excitedly, “We have been wondering when this would happen ever since we’ve known you, but of course we couldn’t ask you, since it wasn’t our place. But Sansa, this makes us feel so happy for you and your husband both. What a happy night and tidings!”

  “My most sincere congratulations,” Ser Marlon expressed, bowing his head in respect in Sansa and Sandor’s direction, as the Onion actually stood up and walked over to shake Sandor’s hand, laughing and shaking his head in disbelief.

  “I don’t know what King Stannis will say about this,” Seaworth remarked, not at all offended that they had held back the news from him as well. “But I am glad for you both. I think I know what this must have meant for you two.”

  “Thank you, Lord Davos,” Sansa told the former smuggler, as Sandor snarled with a grin, remembering the time when he had had to convince Seaworth that he meant no harm to Sansa, and truly did love her and had her best interests and well being foremost in his thoughts, “I appreciate your well wishes, smuggler.”

  Sandor liked the Onion well enough, but no matter what he thought of the smuggler-turned-Hand, or how much his opinion of Seaworth had changed in the past months, the fact remained that Davos was loyal to Stannis Rigid Baratheon and him alone at the end of the day, and so neither Sandor nor the little bird had wanted anyone who was not those closest to them to know about the child.

  Sansa started thanking the Manderlys again, so Sandor had to joining her, and a moment later they were all toasting in honour of his child, wishing him good health and a long life, while Sandor stared in awe at Sansa, wondering even now after such a long journey beside her, how the little bird could be carrying his pup.

  _Eddard of the Houses Stark and Clegane_ , Sandor thought, grinning as he raised the cup of sour red to his lips, remembering that were they to have a little birdling, then Arwyn would be her name, after his long lost little sister. Sandor knew that he would never be able to find the right words to tell Sansa just how much that meant to him. How in awe he was to this day that she had ever been willing to let him have her, and share so much with a man like him.

  His little bird placed her hand above the one he had on her knee right in that moment at such thoughts crossed him mind, and as she gave him a beaming smile, Sandor could not help but consider that maybe there was no need for him to tell her. _Maybe she already knows_. Fuck, how was he ever going to leave her?

  “I am sorry we did not tell you sooner,” Sansa told the sisters as soon as the toast was over, and she looked away from him. “But we wanted to keep it a secret between us for just a little while.”

  “Oh, it’s all right, Sansa. Really, don’t apologize,” Wylla assured the little bird, even as her sister asked with a frown, “Forgive me, but I just remembered, I- surely you aren’t thinking on joining the men in the march of Winterfell anymore, are you? You have to take care of yourself. I’m sorry if I am being imprudent, but we’ve grown to care for you Sansa. You are quite young, and I really don’t think you should risk it. Won’t you consider remaining here with us?”

  Sandor gulped and reached out to place his hand on Sansa’s knee, as the little bird allowed Wyn to take her hand, and chirped, “I confess that we had hoped you would ask me to stay here. I do wish with all my heart that I could go back to Winterfell with Sandor and my brother’s troops. It’s been so long, and I was so close, but we have to think of my child now. So Sandor and I came to the agreement that if you were all willing, it should probably be best that I didn’t leave White Harbour.”

  “Oh we would be so happy to have you stay here with us for however long you wish,” Wylla Manderly promised Sansa, nodding vigorously. “You have been such a support to us in our visits to the poor and have turned out to be a great friend. You’ve made the days in this city more fun, to tell you the truth. You _all_ have. And with a baby- Wyn and I used to love taking care of all our little cousins before the war, so we are not completely ignorant where children are concerned.”

  “Wylla, they understand,” Wynafryd pointed out, shaking her head as Sansa chuckled. “They’ve seen us with Lord Rickon often enough to know that.”

  “They’ll be great parents, won’t they?” Edar remarked, laughing. “Just imagine, a Stark baby born in the midst of winter. From what I’ve learned so far of northerners, that will certainly raise everyone’s spirits, I think.”

  “Yes,” the Manderly girls agreed, nodding at the same time. “The child will also strengthen the Starks’ hold on Winterfell once we seek to reclaim it in your name too.”

  “Talking about Lord Rickon,” Wylla remarked, frowning. “Well, what will happen to him? Surely he’ll remain here with you, Sansa, will he not?”

  “Yes, my brother is staying here with me.”

  _That_ got the Onion’s attention, Sandor was quick to notice. Davos straightened in his chair, and almost spilled the wine he’d been drinking. But before he could even get a word out of his mouth, Sansa arched an eyebrow in his direction, and stated what Seaworth was having such a trouble understanding, “Yes, Davos. Rickon will remain by my side. After everything my family has been trough I trust you will all understand why I cannot part from my brother.”

   “But- but my lady, King Stannis won’t like this-” the man began to stammer, before Sandor cut him off by pointing out, “It wasn’t Stannis the one who asked you to bring the boy back. It was Lord Manderly, and I reckon the old man wouldn’t get angry at us for leaving Rickon under his family’s care. It won’t be safe for the boy out there, and you know it just as well as I do.

  The bloody Onion was not very pleased with this, but after staring at Sandor with growing annoyance, he said nothing. Sansa hesitated for a moment before continuing.

  “There is more yet,” she told their hosts, returning her attention to the Manderlys after sparing a look in his direction.

  “It has also been decided though that Shaggydog should follow the men to war,” Sansa announced.

  “But is it wise to separate Lord Rickon from his wolf?” Wylla commented at once, looking in disbelief at Sansa after she had recovered from her surprise at the news. _Good, they don’t like it anymore than I do_. _Maybe they’ll manage to make the little bird see sense_.

  The little bird raised her head high and straightened her shoulders as she replied confidently, “My brother would have gone to war in Shaggy’s place if he’d had his way. As it is though, what would be wise would be to prove to our enemies that they should fear most terribly for their lives now that the direwolves are back, Wylla. They have to suffer the consequences of the words you told me when we first met. The north remembers.”

  “Indeed,” Ser Marlon nodded in agreement, making Sandor stare at the man in fucking disbelief! _This is so bloody stupid_.

  He had been counting on the knight to be the most likely to back him up, but the sodding knight only said with a fucking nod, “The north remembers, Lady Sansa, and I don’t think there is anything more uplifting in these troubles times for everyone’s spirits than the tidings that you are carrying a direwolf pup, and that the Stark line is not only coming back with a vengeance, but will not perish.”

  Sandor’s eyes narrowed as he heard those words, knowing what they would mean in the long run after what he had overheard Edar mentioning to Sansa the other day to him.

  _At least this proves that I was right in wishing my son to be called after his Ned Stark_ , Sandor gathered, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly, as he shot a look of anger in Ser Marlon’s direction.

  “The men who despise Sandor now may end up respecting him not only for his reputation in the battlefield,” Sandor remembered Edar telling his bird. “But because he could very well be the father of a possible Lord Stark in case something happened to Rickon, you know.”

  Sandor and Sansa had talked about that and had both agreed that that was not a prospect they liked for their firstborn, but neither did Sandor liked to think that the Manderlys were already considering his child as a future pawn in the game, since that only made him even more suspicious about what that family would choose to do were the little bird’s life at risk during the birth. _They could decide to let her die in favour of the babe_. They may like her well enough, but was it enough to spare her were the worst to come to pass?

  Seaworth was looking thoughtfully at Ser Marlon after the knight had stated his thoughts on this matter, and finally the Onion asked, “So let me see if I understood correctly. Lady Sansa will remain here with Lord Rickon while you go off alone with the direwolf to the wars, Sandor?”

  “Yes,” he nodded, wondering if Davos was going deaf.

  “But what will happen with Osha and Hagen?”

  Sandor’s mouth began to twitch in distaste as the reason behind the fights Sansa and he had had was finally brought up. He tried his best not to look in the little bird’s direction now though, since it was one thing to argue amongst themselves, and another for the Manderlys and Seaworth to learn that the bird and he were not of the same mind in this bloody mess.

For when the time had come for them to talk with Hagen and Osha about whom would be staying in White Harbour and who would be going to war, Sandor and his little bird had had one of their worst fights, since neither of them was happy with what the other wanted.

  It had been a long time since Sandor felt the seething anger he’d lived with for so long from the days when he was still serving the Lannisters. But the moment Sansa proposed with a confident smile that it would be best for both Osha and Hagen to go with him, leaving her, their child, and her brother, all alone in this city, Sandor couldn’t help himself.

  Even if Sansa and he had agreed that the Manderlys, a house not only powerful and wealthy, but valuable in the game for the loyalty they were supposedly prepared to show to Sansa and Rickon, were the best option they had, since if they couldn’t really rely on them, then the cause of House Stark was truly fucking lost, Sandor could not even consider the bloody possibility of leaving Sansa and Rickon to fend for themselves with the Manderlys.

  Had this bloody matter not been one of life and death, Sandor may have even laughed when his stubborn little bird proposed it, but since that was not the fucking case, the fact that Sansa didn’t even seem to be joking, had only angered him more.

  Sandor had asked Sansa what would she even _do_ by herself if their enemies learned where she was and attacked White Harbour, questioning her about how she even proposed to get herself and their child and Rickon to safety and out of a city under siege, making it clear that he would prefer it if both Osha and Hagen stayed behind in the city with her, while he went away with only Shaggydog for company.

  “If things get fucked up I don’t want you to stay behind waiting for me, little bird,” he had snarled at his wife, in a voice that was rough and hard as an iron grasp, clenching his fists at his side. “I know I told you I would take you home, but I also said that I would keep you safe, Sansa. So I’ll be damned if the day ever comes when I walk away and leave you alone and unprotected.

  If we lose, I want you to flee White Harbour and take everything with you that you can and sell it. Anything that can get you and your brother on a ship back to Essos. But you won’t be able to do that on your own. Why the fuck do you want me to take away any protectors you could have in this damned city?”

  Sandor had been shaking with anger by then, since he could remember well enough what had happened to the Targaryen children after Robert won at the Trident. They had fled Dragonstone with help, but if Sansa was on her own, _what_ then?

  Before Sansa was even able to reply, Sandor had continued, questioning her by snarling, “You could flee to Lorath or somewhere with Hagen, and instead here you are asking me to take away from your side the only sodding hope that keeps me going. The only sort of reassurance that I bloody well have of knowing that you won’t be completely alone when I can no longer keep you safe!”

  But Sansa had made it clear that she was not going to give up on her case easily, and had gone on and on about how much she feared that he was not well protected when he left White Harbour to face the Boltons and the Freys and Stannis Baratheon.

  “Sandor, just _listen_ to me!” the little bird had exclaimed. “You are going to be completely surrounded in the march to Winterfell by men and knights who resent you for marrying me. If Hagen and Osha go with you, then at least I am sure they can keep an eye on you and make sure that you don’t make even more enemies.”

  “So you want me to take three wet-nurses in case I scratch my knees?” he’d spat back angrily, thinking about Shaggydog, Osha and Edar.

  “Gods be good,” Sansa had answered, trying hard to keep the anger in her voice in check, Sandor had managed to register. “You _know_ it’s more than that, Sandor. Stannis may seek to hurt you in some way when you are brought before him. He _burns_ people, remember? _How_ can you even think that I will let you go meet that man on your own?

  Whether it is because of the man you were when you served the Lannisters, or because you married me, or won’t bend the knee to him or his red god, it doesn’t matter. I have as much right as you do to want to keep you safe! I know that asking Hagen and Osha to join you could not end up mattering much if the red god has turned Stannis as mad as Arman and Quallo were, but I _have_ to do _something_. I have lost nearly everyone I’ve ever loved, and couldn’t stop them from being murdered. But now I do have the choice and the chance to do something.”

  “Little bird,” Sandor had replied as patiently as he could in those moments, trying to keep calm, since he _was_ moved by Sansa’s concern and the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes made him feel as shit.

  “I know how to behave around men like Stannis,” he’d explained to her, thinking back on Gregor. “I’ve survived worse men than him after all. If that bloody fanatic isn’t as stupid as I remember and actually _listens_ to me, I still stand a chance. Trust me.

  I’ll do everything I can so that the fucker ends up accepting us and _our_ terms, even if he hates them. I don’t care. King Rigid Baratheon will just have to sit and grind his teeth to powder, because Westeros will end up just like Norvos if that bloody red god is tolerated here.”

  But no matter what he said, the little bird was not convinced. When it became clear that neither of them was going to get exactly what they wanted, they had decided that they would let matters rest for the meanwhile, but until today neither had mentioned it again.

  Sandor knew why Sansa was trying to pretend that they still had time before they could decide what to do, since she had behaved similarly back in Essos whenever he wanted to discuss what Robb Stark and Sansa’s mother would think of them getting together, and probably because she didn’t wish for them to spend their last days together fighting- the only thing in this bloody mess Sandor agreed with, and the reason he suspected, if he was honest with himself, was behind him agreeing to play this game along with this game with the little bird.

  “We have not yet decided who will be going with Sandor and the men and who will be remain here with me,” Sansa was answering the Onion, as Sandor reached out to take a drink of the Dornish red before him, shaking his head.

  “But shouldn’t Hagen remain here as your sworn arrow, Sansa?” Wynafryd wondered, looking at a loss.

  _Yes, he bloody well should_ , Sandor thought sullenly, but knew better than to actually say those words out loud in these moments.

  “Osha would be just as capable of taking care of me and Rickon, as Hagen would. Yet my sworn arrow’s skills and knowledge would be wasted if he were to remain here in White Harbour, for he is the best man with bow and arrow the north has seen in a long time.

  On the other hand, Osha would be valuable to the troops due to her knowledge of Winterfell and the hidden ways beneath the castle that could be useful to them once they reached my home. So you see? I am afraid it is not so simple. But we value your opinions on all matters, my friends, and wanted to ask you all what you think should be done with in this situation.”

  The Manderlys and the Onion were all more than ready to make it clear what they thought should be done, and it took them well past midnight for them, along with Osha and Edar, to agree on what should be done. The final decision still had to be taken by Sansa and he though, and Sandor and his little bird could tell that neither of them was still happy with what had been proposed during dinner in the Merman’s Court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!! Hope you’re enjoying the story, and if you feel like reviewing please do. Your comments are some of the best highlights of my week :D  
>  I have some news for you all. I am like 90% sure I’m going to go away for a week this Thursday, so I won’t be able to update the fic next Sunday. I apologize for making you all wait 2 weeks for chapter 51, but this is the first time this sort of gap would be happening, and I promise it won’t happen again. I’ll probably be away from the fandom during that week, but I’m going to miss you all! Take care and enjoy the final episode of season 3 (,;  
> Love,  
> Caroh99


	51. Sandor & Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:   
> Disclaimers  
> \- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt's, Dante's Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> * Onborrowedwings, my lovely beta, a thousand thank you’s forever for all your help!! :D :D   
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.
> 
> *Hullo!! I’ve missed you all these last 2 weeks, but now I’m back (: thank you so much to everyone for your patience and understanding and for your well wishes regarding my trip. It went great :D   
> Sooo.... this chapter was originally quite long, so I’ve decided to split it in two. Chapter 52 will deal with Sandor and the morning after the events on this one (: Thanks for reading!!

  Sansa lit the last tallow candle in the bedroom with a soft sigh and looked behind her, content with the way the large chamber and the furniture that decorated it looked. There were sweet-swelling rushes spread all over the floor, and two bottles of wine that were placed on the surface of the table to her right; one was a sweet Arbour gold and the other one was a strong Dornish red. Everything was ready, only her big man was missing.

  All the necessary belongings Sandor would need to take away with him were already also packed not only in his saddle, but also on bags and bundles attached to it as well. It was painful not to see her own saddlebag beside Sandor’s now after all the months of their travels in the east where they had crammed everything they had owned back then in them, but at least Sansa had the memory of having helped her big man pack his clothes this afternoon. 

  “I’ll help you pack,” she had offered, as Sandor knelt down beside his saddlebag to make sure it was still fit to take on the journey with him and she brushed her hair.

  “No need,” her big man had snarled, turning around to look at her. “You don’t have to help me, little bird.”

  Sansa had almost rolled her eyes then at that, and stated clearly, “But I _want_ to, Sandor.”

  Her husband had looked as if he was about to snarl something, but he didn’t, and in the end Sansa had tried to be of as much help as she could to her big man.

  _And I succeeded_ , she knew with a grin, for Sandor had ruffled her hair when they were finished, and packing side by side had turned into wrestling and tickling each other on the ground. Sandor had remarked with a proud and amused laugh as they went on fooling around, “What am I going to do without you in the following months, bird? Without you both?” before he shifted on all fours until he was looming above her tummy as she lay on the ground on her back.

  Sansa had stared with a slightly parted mouth at Sandor as her big man ran a long finger over her belly button, before he lowered his face and placed a kiss on her tummy. And somehow kissing her tummy turned into talking to the unborn child they were expecting, the baby he would leave behind with her.

  All Sansa had been able to do then was try to recall everything Sandor told their baby in case her child’s father never returned to them. It was a hard task, not because Sandor ended up having a lot to say to their baby, but because Sansa was overwhelmed by the vulnerability Sandor was allowing himself to show; a vulnerability which she had only been witness of scarce few times in the past. 

  They had stayed there laying on the floor, with Sansa stroking her husband’s back as Sandor rested his head on her chest and ran his huge hand over her tummy and their baby until dusk approached hours ago.

  Presently padding barefooted across the room to tend to the crackling fire in the hearth, feeling the cold floor beneath her feet as her eyes gazed at the flames that were shivering due to the fierce gusting wind outside, Sansa wrapped her dark green long cloak trimmed with fox fur tighter around her.

  It had grown colder since the sun went down on this wintry evening, but Sansa knew that the cold northern winds would knife through Sandor’s warmest cloak, freezing his blood right in his veins soon enough, and she was not about to remark, let alone complain, even in her thoughts about tonight’s weather. _The winters are hard in the north, and everyone agrees that this will be a winter that will last years, but the Starks can endure it. We always have_. _White Harbour is a warm bath in comparison to what awaits the poor brave soldiers and knights in the long march to Winterfell_. In contrast to what awaited Sansa’s sworn arrow and her big man.

  With a shake of her head, Sansa walked across the room to sit on the chair by the hearth where she had left one of Sandor’s warmest tunics at. The sleeve needed to be mended, and now that everything was ready, Sansa returned to her work, picking up the tunic and her string and needle. _I have to mend it before Sandor goes_ _away_.

  Yet it was no good. As soon as she sat down her thoughts kept her from focusing her attention on the big shirt, and before long Sansa was staring outside the window at the night sky. Up above the treetops there was a crescent white moon floating in a dark jet sky and thousands of stars scattered across it, shinning bright. But the moon and the stars were half-obscured by mist, like eyes peering through a veil of black silk.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she whispered to herself, closing her eyes, and smiling as memories of countless nights spent outside beside Sandor on their bedrolls in the Hills of Norvos overtook her.

  That made Sansa recall what had followed after Sandor and she had announced to the Manderlys that she was with child in the middle of their small feast at the Merman’s Court. It had been during their journey with the caravan that Sandor and she had first met Hagen Edar, her sworn arrow and the one who had been decided at long last would accompany Sandor to war, while Osha remained behind with Rickon and Sansa in White Harbour.

  Some of the reasons behind this outcome were that Hagen as a prominent member of a wealthy merchant family, if only his past as an outlaw was ignored, stood a better chance when the time came to stand beside Sandor and in front of Stannis Baratheon, than a wildling woman did, regardless of whether Stannis had been the man that agreed along with Jon to let the Free Folk settle on this side of the Wall. In result to this decision, Osha had to make Sandor memorize, a map of all the secret ways underneath Winterfell, so when the time came it could be easier for the men and soldiers to enter the castle if the opportunity presented itself.

  After that difficult matter had been settled and there was no going back from the choice they’d all come to conclude should happen, Wynafryd, Wylla and their Uncle Ser Marlon had proposed that as soon as the men left the city Sansa, Rickon and Osha should move together to the bedchambers next to the sisters, for safety. They had also assigned, with Sandor’s approval, temporary men to serve Sansa and Rickon as sworn shields, guarding them at all times.

  Wynafryd and her uncle had been debating with Sansa’s husband and Hagen Edar whom they could they consider for such an important task, but none had been decided until Wylla remembered that there was a man in the New Castle called Duncan who owed Lord Wyman his life and place in the world. Duncan had three big sons who had all been born in the castle and were quite trustworthy, and appointed them herself to Sansa and Rickon’s care, under Sandor’s watchful eyes.

  “It’s going to be known soon enough that the Starks are alive, and that we are hosting them. There’s danger for all of us, but I will really feel at ease if I know Donnel, Domeric and Damon are with you at all times,” her friend had told her.

  Sansa had been speechless when Wylla offered to have so many men protecting her, since it had not only backed up her desire for Sandor to take Osha with him for his own safety, but had ended up proposing that they shared the guards among them.

  “Wyn doesn’t need any of old Duncan’s sons to look out for her when she has handsome Ser Rodrik already doing that, you know,” Wylla continued in jest, laughing behind her elaborate fan as her eldest sister overheard her.

  But these new arrangements hadn’t been the only things the Manderlys had done so far for Sansa and her pack. They had also prepared a visit to the Sept of the Snows so that they could all go and pray to the new gods for Sandor, Hagen, Lord Davos, and the rest of the men’s lives and welfare as they marched off to war to face the enemy, and even though Sandor had gone through the whole ceremony with little good grace, Sansa was thankful that he had at least gone to the sept.

  White Harbour still didn’t know about her baby, but that didn’t stop Sansa from wishing to start seeking the gods’ blessings for her child. And the moment she had told Sandor that she had also wished to go so that they could thank and pray for their little Arwyn or Eddard, Sandor’s angry scowl had at least disappeared into a brooding frown, and he’d relented without too much arguing.

  She had lit candles to the Seven, knowing that the day after her husband was gone from her side she would be visiting the building every day in an attempt to pray and ask for Sandor’s protection and life. But Sansa had not forgotten the old gods, and nor had the Manderlys or the rest of her pack, for yesterday they had also all gone back to the godswood in the Wolf’s Den to pray to the gods of the north to have mercy on them all in the winter wars.

  The godswood had also been a happy occasion for Sansa since it had been there where she had finally bestowed on Edar a white cloak to prove to the world that the Lorathi was her sworn arrow and protector. Since that was most commonly known as a practice done by believers of the Faith, Sansa had asked Hagen if she could present him with his gift in the Sept of the Snows, but the former outlaw had reminded her that he was not a believer of the Seven.

  “Oh yes, you’re right,” she had been forced to admit, trying hard to keep the disappointment from her voice or her face since she really did want to gift her friend with the white cloak.

  Yet he had surprised Sansa when he continued by saying with a hint of amusement, “Don’t look so sad faced, Sansa! I am not saying I won’t accept the cloak, you know, even if I don’t think I deserve it. I may not believe in your Fighter and Stranger and Grandmother, but I think I would not object to going through the ceremony under a heart tree. To be honest, I’m glad that your new temporary sworn shields haven taken over my place.”

  Sansa had giggled at the jest, taking Hagen’s hand, and replying with complete honesty, “That could never happen, my dearest friend. Really Hagen, how can _you_ of all people say that? There’s honour in faithful service and honesty, and those are two words I would think about straight away were someone to ask me about my gallant sworn arrow.”

  A serious expression had fallen on Edar, and the Lorathi had looked at her with something Sansa could not recognize in his eyes before her friend said solemnly, “I promise you Sansa that I will make sure Sandor doesn’t get into too much trouble. I swear to you on my wife’s memory that I will keep my eye out for any trouble with the knights that accompany us, and that when we meet this famous stag king who loves R’hllor, we will both try our best to mind our manners.”

  Sansa had half chuckle and half cried out at those words, for she knew Sandor more than Hagen did, and it was hard to imagine that things would go smoothly when her husband was brought before King Robert’s brother, despite Edar’s undying optimism. 

  Yet it wasn’t only Stannis Baratheon and the knights who had had that awful encounter with Sandor in the training yard what worried Sansa. There were little things that made her worry sick for her big man’s welfare, like what her husband would do if his boots wore out? Or if his feet got wet and he caught a cold that could so easily turn into a much more serious illness?

  If only Sansa could go and either fight or follow Sandor herself, everything would be a little more bearable for her, for her husband had been fighting his whole life, ever since he was born under the same roof as Gregor.

  _I wonder if this is how mother felt when Father left her to go fight in Robert’s wars, or when we all went south to the capital after the king named father his Hand_. Lady Catelyn had been such a strong woman, that Sansa hoped some of her strength had passed on to her, otherwise how would she ever live through the upcoming months with her head held high, not giving in to despair? How could she learn to live with forbearance every day of her life as she waited for news of Sandor when such a future seemed bleak to her?

  _Wars go on forever_ , Sansa knew, looking down at the tunic on her lap, still grabbing the string and needle between her trembling fingers as she remembered how long ago it seemed since the war of the five kings had started, and even though so many people had lost their lives and many of the players were different to the ones who had started, the outcomes of the previous war had led into this one with the Boltons and the Freys; the cycle repeating itself, going on and on and on for who knew how long for a certainty? _Only the gods, I suppose_.

  So it was to the old gods and the new that Sansa prayed for her husband’ welfare tonight. For Sandor was going so far away from her side in the morning, and even before he reached Winterfell and the enemy, he would have to suffer many pains and hardships like hunger, and long marches in the sleet and the snow, his life at risk at every moment.

  Sansa was so lost in her thoughts that she did not even hear the sound of Sandor’s footsteps outside in the hallway announcing his return until he barred the bedroom door behind him, the heavy lock sounding like a battle horn to her; a sound that sent a shiver down her spine and made her stand up quickly, startled. 

  She met his grey eyes at once, and saw in them the same conflicting emotions that were warring inside of her, though it was evident that Sandor could master to hide them better than she ever could. For one, his hands were not shaking like hers as she stood there across the chamber from him, clutching his tunic and the string and needle tightly against her chest, and her big man even looked amused as his eyes left her and settled on the decorations around the bedroom.

  “What’s all this?” he said amused.

  “I’m- I’m mending your shirt,” she replied, even if that was not the answer to the question he’d asked her, and what she had really meant to tell him was, “I could not bid you farewell without at least making something special of this night. Our last night.”

  “Mending my shirt?” he repeated, grey eyes settling on his tunic, a smirk betraying him even as his lip began to twitch. “I see.”

  “Yes, I- I don’t want you to catch a cold,” she explained, trying really hard to keep her voice from breaking. “You have to keep warm.”

  Sansa must have been gripping the needle too hard, for the next thing she knew she felt a sharp stab on her thumb as she pinched herself, making her cry out, “Bugger!”

  Her eyes went as wide as saucers a moment after, realizing what had just come out of her mouth. Sansa’s eyes met Sandor’s as she dropped the tunic to the ground and raised her hand to cover her mouth, almost wincing as Sandor recovered from the first moment of shock, before he broke out in one of the longest and loudest barks of laughter Sansa had ever heard him have.

  _Gods be good_ , Sansa thought, blushing fiercely in embarrassment. She wanted to crawl to the bed and hide under the bedcovers and never look at her big man again, but all she seemed able to do was stand there and watch Sandor laugh until he clutched at his stomach in pain, as she started to suck on her hurt thumb.

  “Seven hells, little bird,” he rasped between breaths. “Now I know that you’ve spent too much time beside me if curses like that are coming out of that pretty mouth of yours.”

  Neither Sandor’s voice nor his look was mocking, and the sound of his rasping, raucous laughter filled Sansa with such warmth, that she finally managed to stammer, “It’s not funny,” before she began to giggle as well.

  They laughed together despite it all, and when Sandor had unbuckled his scabbard and longsword and placed them on the table, he strode across the room in her direction, snarling, “I’ve ruined you, Sansa. If you go on like that you’ll stop being the courteous proper little lady I knew.”

  Sansa chuckled as Sandor stopped in front of her, saying softly, “I’m going to try and pretend that was a compliment.”

  “You should,” her husband agreed, bending down so he could pick his shirt off the ground, and handed back to her. “Here, you dropped this.”

  Sandor handed her his shirt, his large hand brushing against hers before he grabbed her hand in his and raised it to his lips. Sansa could only watch with widening eyes as Sandor parted his mouth and grazed her pinched thumb with his teeth, before he sucked at the little wound there, his eyes caressing her.

  When he released her thumb and asked, “Better?” Sansa lowered her eyes, and nodded, saying, “Thank you,” in a tremulous voice.

  “That’s the pretty little talking bird that minds her courtesies I know,” Sandor observed with a snort.

  That he would say those words, echoing the night when he had first told called her by her pet name as well as telling her of Gregor and how half his face got burned, made Sansa catch her breath. They had spent the last couple of days worrying and wishing things were different, but even if tonight was their last chance to do anything but that, she couldn’t stand it. It was too much.

  Sansa really wanted to be brave, and keep a happy face for Sandor so that he could remember her just like that, so rather than let him see her trying hard not to cry, she looked away from him, clasping her hands together nervously.

  Time seemed to stop still then, since neither said another word for long moments. Sansa didn’t move. She knew that since her husband could read most people’s thoughts as plainly as if they were open books written on their faces, he could understand the reason behind her hesitation to face him, even if he was not regarding her expression. _He knows me too well not to know what is going through my mind_.

  Without breaking the silence, Sandor laid a large heavy hand on her left shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Sansa closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing herself to be strong and not break down once again, as her big man gently took her face in his warm calloused hands, kissed her lightly on the forehead, and rasped, “Sansa, _look_ at me.”

  With her head tilted up, Sansa had no other choice but to lift her eyes to her husband’s burned face. Sandor’s grey eyes clung to hers, and she finally found the strength in their grey depths to whisper, “It’s not fair.”

  Why did they have to part now of all times, when they had just learned of the baby born out of their love?

  “No, it’s not,” Sandor agreed with a grimace, as some emotion flickered momentarily in his eyes.

  “I’m going to miss you so much,” she said, attempting a smile. “I don’t know how I will ever make it through the coming months without you. Without you waking beside me- or- or without knowing where you are, and with our baby- I- I just”

  Sandor took one good look at her as she tried to get those words out of her, and drew her to him at once by wrapping his arms around her in a silent hug, sparing her the need to go on when he already knew better than any words she could think of now just how much she was going to need him, for it was exactly the same for him.

  Sansa sniffed and buried her face on his chest, her arms going around Sandor’s neck as they clung to each other. Sandor groaned as he lifted her from the ground, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she fisted the hair at the back of his head between her long fingers, hugging her tightly to him in a bone-crushing hug.

  “I love you, little bird, do you hear me?” Sandor pledged in a voice that sounded like two woods saws grinding together, “I love you both. More than anything.”

  “I love you too,” Sansa whispered back honestly, fighting back her tears as she clung to Sandor’s neck, gathering that the time to face the fact that these were the last hours they were going to spend together had arrived. “You mean the world to me. That’s why this is hurting so much.”

  “This time with you, Sansa- you made my life have a bloody meaning, little bird, when I had no right to expect anything from you after the way I treated you at the start. I’ve always known I don’t deserve you, and yet it still kills me that I can’t stay or bring you along. I want you to know that the only thing that will keep me going after today will be the thought of you and the babe.”

  His words only served to make the first couple of tears that had been threatening to fall down her cheeks appear, but Sansa couldn’t do much about it at this point. She turned her face to him and met her husband’s stare and felt overwhelmed in that moment, for his eyes seemed to bore right into hers; right into her very soul and the core of her being. Sansa had been frightened of her big man’s eyes once, but it had been a long time since those bygone early days in King’s Landing, when Sandor’s stare had been compromised of a pair of sullen grey eyes, full of anger.  _But_ _that was forever ago._

  His heart was in his eyes as Sandor gazed down at her, and the pain he alone could understand and share with her in such a poignant milestone in their lives as the shadowy crossroad of tomorrow’s parting loomed over them both, was so deep that all Sansa could do was let her tears fall, knowing that the man who had her in his arms would love her more than anyone ever had or would till the day she died. _This is too much- too unbearable._ Her previous resolution of not letting her tears fall couldn’t matter anymore, for a woman can only stand so much on a night like this.

  “Oh gods, Sandor, what are we going to _do_? I’m so afraid of never seeing you again,” she cried, stroking back the black hair that fell forward and hid half of his face from view as she went on trembling in his arms like a leaf, for they had arrived at a point in their relationship where they hardly were two different people no. “We always thought we would be facing the world together, whether it was my mother and Robb, or Stannis and the rest of my brother’s bannermen. But now you are going to have to go to war on your own, surrounded by enemies or knights and soldiers who dislike you. How will I ever let you go?”

  Having lost every member of her family but for Rickon and Jon, it was really hard for Sansa to ignore just how easily could it be for fate to suddenly decide to take Sandor from her for good, and that was something Sansa knew would just kill her.

  “You are like no one else I’ve ever know, Sansa,” Sandor said, chuckling at her words, and looking so grateful to her for some reason. The sound of his chuckle was a sour sound, part a rumble, part a snarl, but it was far from unkind. “You are the bravest of the two here, my strong courageous, little bird, and when the time comes, it’ll be harder for me to walk away from your side than the other way around.”

  “No, it won’t,” Sansa exclaimed at once, shaking her head, tears stinging her eyes.

  Sandor didn’t say anything else. He just bent down and kissed the tip of her nose, her wet cheekbones, her eyelids and finally her mouth in a deep slow kiss.

   When Sansa broke the kiss so she could catch her breath, her big man moved his half-scarred split lips to her neck, licking at her skin, and driving a little moan from her when he stopped nipping at her shoulder only so he could bit down on it, marking her as his.

  _As if having his baby didn’t already make me his_ , Sansa gathered fleetingly, once Sandor returned his attention to her waiting mouth. Their hands were tugging at each other’s clothes not long after that, their grief turned to need, as they urged the other on for with every moment that passed by, passions increased for Sandor and her both.

  When Sansa’s dark green long cloak lay in a puddle at her feet, and Sandor had unlaced the front of her nightgown, he moved his hand to her back, sliding it from her shoulders to the small of her back, pressing her as close to him as he could, and bucking his hips, making her gasp at the feeling of his hardness against her. 

  The past and the promise of their child in the future was all they had now that the stakes were thrown and their lives once again hung in the dangerous precarious line that was the game of thrones. But in between the past and what was to come, Sandor and Sansa still had the opportunity to make the most of tonight, and they made sure they did, both of them aware that this could very well be the last time they could make love and be together.

  Sometime after midnight Sandor was panting as he lay on his back on the bed, as out of breath and spent as Sansa was. He had his head on a pillow and was running his hands up and down Sansa’s bare back, for she was sprawled on top of him, resting contentedly on his hairy chest after her ragged breathing had subsided into soft breaths that came out of her slightly parted mouth. Sansa was tucked tightly in Sandor’s arms, her shaking subsiding, and their bodies glistened together in a mist of sweat.

  Sandor’s mouth was pressed against her forehead, and he was kissing her there now as she buried her face deeper into the crook of his neck, willing herself to breathe in the way he smelt so she did not forger it in the coming months. Their hearts were beating in almost the exact same rhythm, Sansa was glad to notice, as the thumping subsided at a slow pace, the signs of their intense lovemaking still freshly branded in her mind and body.

  Sansa couldn’t even move long enough to stretch in these moments, since her legs still felt weak and her thighs were bruised, and her breasts hurt, feeling extremely tender and sensitive after the way Sandor had pressed and sucked and bit on them. Light stabs below her belly disturbed Sansa as well, but even the tender ache between her legs was one she welcomed wholeheartedly. Sandor had given her whatever that she had wanted.

  Raising her head, feeling drowsy and still in a sort of haze, Sansa started tracing with her lips a path of kisses on her husband’s chest, noticing how the shifting flames of the fire and the candles painted Sandor’s scarred muscled warrior’s body with orange shadows. Sansa left a little wet trail on her husband’s warm skin as she placed kisses over it- the remains of the tears she had shed as Sandor took her, first roughly and desperately and then slow but deep, overwhelming her and her senses even now in its aftermath.

  _I want to stay here forever_ , she wished longingly, considering how good it would be if just by wishing something it could come true. That very thought made her feel even more detatched from the present somehow, because if there was something Sansa Stark had learned in this life, it was that life didn’t always turn out the way one wanted.

  The moment Sansa raised her head to look at Sandor’s face, they both gave the other a weary-half smile, and Sansa could not help but recall for some reason there and then the night when emerald fire had lit up the dark sky above, the night when the journey Sandor and she were meant to live through together had started. And now, when fate meant for them to start down different paths, they were back in a bed in a room that was illuminated by the fire’s glow, though tonight it was due to a dark golden luster instead,.

  The room was too dark for her to see every detail of his features by now with total clarity, but Sansa had every single detail of Sandor’s face engraved in her heart and in her memory and in her soul, whether it was the craters and cracks that twisted the scars the burning coals of a brazier had left in his face long ago, to the little bump on his large and hooked nose, or the little crow feet around his eyes, and the couple of grey hairs among his thin dark shoulder length hair that he always brushed sideways.

  When Sansa lay her head on top of Sandor’s chest after he had kissed her, a smile on her face, neither of them moved again, and they both fell asleep eventually for a much earned rest, her long auburn hair washing over both their bodies as they held on to each other closely.

  Sansa woke up before Sandor did about an hour later, or so she gathered due to the darkness outside the window. She smiled sadly as she saw her husband snoring beside her, and slowly, so as not to wake him, Sansa left the bed so she could go and clean herself in the bathing room, leaving Sandor to his dreams, thinking that she was going to miss this room almost as much as she was going to miss sharing it with Sandor.

  _But I couldn’t stay here even if Wyn and Wylla hadn’t proposed for me to move to the one next to theirs_. Without Sandor in the room, this chamber would start to feel like a prison, of that Sansa was certain.

  When she stepped inside the bedroom once again, she tip toed to the place where Sandor had thrown her jade green nightgown to after he had managed to pull it off her. As Sansa bent down and reached out for the nightgown her eyes fell on Sandor’s longsword. Candlelight and the glowing embers from the fire rippled along the smoke-grey steel, making the blade look so dark that it put Sansa in mind of Ice, her father’s greatsword. _Father would have liked it if one of his grandsons was called after him_ , she thought, smiling sadly as she placed a hand absentmindedly over her tummy.

  Sansa slipped on her nightgown and went to sit on the bed’s edge for a moment so she could trace the muscles on Sandor’s arms and chest, stroking them before she raised her hand to caress the scars on his face lightly with her fingertips and knuckles. _I should let him rest_ , Sansa gathered, since her big man and the others would be leaving the city early in order to cover more ground, but the truth was that it was too hard for Sansa to sleep away these last moments with Sandor, rather than spend this time talking and kissing and letting him know just how much she loved him.

  Her big man’s mouth began to twitch at that, as Sansa knew it would, and as he started to steer from his slumber, Sansa quickly lay on her belly on the mattress, her arms buried underneath the pillow she was hugging as she turned her face around to look at her husband waking up. 

  She could not help but smile at the way Sandor let out a long sigh and stretched out his powerful body beside her, still as naked as his nameday, blushing as she recalled that he had warned her that he would take her again in the morning before it was time to get ready. He turned around to stare at her when he felt her gaze on him, and with a small sleepy grin he shifted on the bed until he was lying down on his belly in the exact same position as she was.

 Sandor reached out to grab one of Sansa’s hands from beneath her pillow then, and he silently brought it to his mouth, and gave it a kiss. Sansa’s mouth opened in a little O as her husband then covered her hand with both of his, and held it there between them, warming it.

  Her Tully blue eyes locked with Sandor’s grey, until he raised his eyebrow in amusement at her after they both failed to say something, and growled in a thick voice, “Seven hells, your hair looks like a bloody nest, little bird.”

  A weak chuckle escaped Sansa against her will at that, but when she failed to say anything, her husband asked her. “What were you thinking of?”

  “Of you and the baby and the past of course,” she finally replied with a sigh, her heart feeling heavy on her chest. “Of the war too, and of Winterfell.”

  A fierce northern wind shook the shutters then, making Sandor and Sansa both raise their heads to stare at the window until it had flown away.

  “It must be freezing cold even inside your castle tonight,” Sandor remarked, slinging one of his long legs over her thigh.

  “No,” she pointed out, as her husband drew her closer to him by the waist.

  Sansa snuggled closer to her big man’s body quickly, feeling the warmth of his body as he threw one of his legs over hers, and wrapped his arm around her.

  “It isn’t always like that,” Sansa continued after a moment. “I know they say this will be the longest winter in living memory, but I can still recall that it was always warm inside Winterfell, even when it snowed during the summer. Water from the hot springs used to be piped through the walls to warm us, and inside the glass gardens it was always like the hottest day of summer.”

  “If we win, it’ll be a rough life moving back to Winterfell and restoring some life to its walls,” Sandor pointed out to her, reaching out to run his calloused hand down her bare leg. “But after we are done re-building the castle, it’ll be just like you remember.”

  “I hope so, Sandor,” was the only thing she could answer, but it was all right. Her big man knew how much taking back her and little Rickon’s home meant to her more than anybody else in the great wide world.

Sandor and Sansa fell silent after that, but neither of them seemed able to stop reaching out to touch or caress or kiss the other everywhere, whether they were talking or not _. It is probably because we won’t be able to do so for who knows how long_ , Sansa gathered with a smile when all of a sudden her big man surprised her by snarling, with brooding eyes, “We’ve done rather well, you and I, haven’t we, Sansa?”

  She frowned in confusion, so Sandor quickly explained, “Given where we started, I mean.”

  Sansa smiled, running her fingers through Sandor’s dark hair, and nodded. _It’s been quite the long journey indeed_ , _and I wouldn’t change much of it, otherwise we would never have arrived at the point in our lives we are at now_.

  “Yes, we certainly have,” she admitted, hesitantly. “Though I must confess I miss Essos more than ever right now. I- I even wonder if it wouldn’t have been wiser if we had remained in the east somewhere.”

  At her words Sandor propped himself up on his elbows and said in that rough voice of his, “You know you don’t mean that, little bird. You belong here in the north with your father’s folk. Even a blind man could see it.”

  “I know,” Sansa was forced to admit, looking away from him as she rubbed her hands together. “But- but this would have been avoided had we stayed in Essos. We would have been happy.”

  Out of the corner of her eyes Sansa saw Sandor shake his head as he leaned forward to kiss her shoulder. She looked back at him at the gesture, and when her eyes met his, Sandor rasped, “Because we haven’t been happy here, Lady Clegane?”

  _Of course we have_ , Sansa knew, smiling again at the way her husband had addressed her. Sansa loved for Sandor to call her Lady Clegane. It never failed to cheer her up, and at least now, as she remembered the memories from when she had first touched northern soil once again to this moment, Sansa felt a little better. 

  “Yes, you are right, we _have_ been happy here,” Sansa had to admit, thinking about her baby, as she leaned down to close the gap between her and her big man. “And hopefully we will continue to be so once you return to me.”

  Sansa kissed Sandor back with all her heart after he claimed her mouth, hugging him, refusing to let go. They spent the following hours thinking back on everything that had ever happened to them, since their first meeting in Winterfell, to King’s Landing, the Kingswood, _The Summer Bird_ , Pentos, lonely Valyrian roads, the High and Low cities of Great Norvos, the caravan through the Hills of Norvos, Hrolf’s castle by the sea, _The Fat Whale_ , Lorath, _Montufar’s Dance_ , Braavos, _The King of the Seas_ , the wilderness of the North, and finally here to White Harbour.

  Sandor and she knew that they wouldn’t change much of the extraordinary journey that led them to the end of the world and beyond, and back to the north had Sandor and Sansa completely absorbed, and made them pass their remaining hours together with laughter, to Sansa’s pleasant surprise. They cleared out and said everything that needed to be said between them, in case they never got the chance to do so again.

  “After everything that has happened,” Sandor snarled at her, the rising sun streaming through the window as he kissed his way up her leg as he knelt on the bed beside her, “I don’t think that when I come back to you anything will ever change between us, little bird.”

  He sounded thankful for that, and Sansa echoed the sentiment, but she could not help but point out as she raised her hand to wipe the fallen tear from her eye, “How wrong you are, my big man. Of course things will change.”

  Sandor raised his burned face to look at her with a scowl, silently reproaching her for contradicting the reassurance that had settled deep down in his heart as a certainty, so Sansa sat up and cupped her husband’s face gently, the burns and scars rough underneath her palm, as she explained, “Things _have_ to change, Sandor. After all, if all goes well we will be parents, remember? Our child will change us, but for the better.”

  _Little Eddard or little Arwyn will do us more good than we could ever make each other_ , she knew, and by the way the frown on the forehead of the man she loved disappeared at her words, Sansa knew that Sandor agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you all liked this chapter! If you feel like it, please review xp


	52. The Girl I Left Behind Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> * Onborrowedwings is the beta behind this work, and I am so very grateful to have her helping me!! x)  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.
> 
> *The title of this chapter is taken from the book Vanity Fair: A Novel without a Hero by William Makepeace Thackeray.

  Snow eddied around them all, making skirts and capes snap noisily. Sandor had never seen the New Castle so crowded. Cooks, servants, blacksmiths, stable boys, ladies, bannermen and knights, among many others had all gathered together in the castle’s yard to watch the garrison depart, and outside soldiers were ranked up in lines waiting. _They_ _won’t have to wait for long though_. Everything was ready, only the usual speeches and formalities had to be done, and then the little bird and he would say their farewells together with the others, and then they would depart.

  They were fifty strong, yet none of the men that would be joining them in the march to Winterfell had been allowed to be free riders or sworn swords at Ser Marlon and Sandor’s decision. Over everyone’s heads, banners emblazoned with the direwolf of Stark and the merman of Manderly whipped back and forth in the wind, but as soon as they reached the outskirts of the city Sandor was going to have the Stark banners pulled down, since the north could not yet know about the bloody vengeance he and the others in their host were taking to Winterfell.

  Sandor took a deep breath of the crisp morning air, glad for the plain but warm clothes on his back. He was wearing high leather boots and leather gloves, and beneath his chainmail and armour roughspun breeches and tunic, and a sleevless leather jerkin. The heavy woolen cloak that the Manderly sisters had given him as a sign of their good will towards him was fastened with the wooden clasp in the shape of a dog and a direwolf Rickon had given him yesterday.

  His little bird meanwhile confirmed what he had always known all along- that she was the most beautiful woman in this world. She stood beside him in the dress she had been meaning to wear on the day she stepped into Winterfell’s grounds again, her cheeks flushed due to the cold and a glint in her eyes. Sansa claimed that she had gained a little more weight since her last fitting for it and felt a bit uncomfortable in it, but Sandor couldn’t agree less, for to him she had never looked more beautiful. 

  “Everyone is looking at us,” Sansa whispered to him as she stood tall beside him, her head barely reaching his shoulders, fidgeting on the spot with the skirts of her gown with her hands.

  Sandor glanced at her sideways, raising his eye in amusement and muttered, “No, little bird. They’re looking at you.”

  Sansa understood what he meant, and gulped. _It’s time_. Everyone that had come to see the men ride off to war, from the lowest kitchen scullion to the ladies dressed in velvet, had their stare fixed in their direction, yet for once the reason for them looking at Sansa was not out of resentment at having married him, but because they were waiting for her and young Rickon to climb the dais and say some words of encouragement and hope to them on this morning, since such formalities had to be observed.

  The Manderlys had just told the crowd that Sansa and Rickon would be staying behind in the city, and the people of White Harbour looked honoured to be the ones that would be keeping the last Starks safe. Ser Marlon had just finished his speech by commenting to the shocked bunch of idiots before them that Sandor was the best seasoned commander he could have ever wished for to lead the garrison to war, and therefore hoped everyone would treat him with respect.

 Sandor hadn’t liked the old bloody knight saying that, for he could deal accordingly with any bastard who thought he was still a spy for the Lannisters, but he had been forced to mind once again that now as Sansa’s husband he could not do something so sodding _disrespectful_.

  With a nervous smile Sansa turned to look at him as Osha lightly pushed Rickon forward, and Sandor gave his wife a wink of encouragement before the little bird followed her brother up the raised dais in the middle of the yard, with Osha and Hagen Edar at her heels, the former wearing her new spear, shield and armour to show she was ready to guard the Starks at any moment.

  The latter though, against Sandor’s wishes since if the madman sunk in the snows, how the hell where they meant to find him, was wearing white from his bow and quiver to doublet and down his boots, topped by that heavy white cloak Sansa had made a gift to him, and which Sandor didn’t really like since it reminded him too much of those days when he had been a member of the Kingsguard.

  _And what a fucking empty jest Joff’s little surprise turned out to be_ , Sandor thought, as he watched the Manderlys step aside to let the Stark siblings stand at the front of the dais side by side, with the former outlaw and the wildling woman standing guard behind them.

  And yet, now that he remembered, the day he had been appointed to wear the white cloak he had remarked sullenly how he had nothing or no one to forsake, unlike now. _That was also the day when Sansa had pleaded for mercy and her father’s life_. But today she was going to plead for a different man. _For me_. Sandor knew Sansa could never understand how he felt about that, for he didn’t know it himself. He didn’t like anyone doing his battles for him, but Sansa was not doing this for him. Not really. _She is doing it for our child’s future_.

  _It’s strange_ , he mused fleetingly, for he had gone to war and fought in battles before, but never had there been someone- and a wife he adored at that- whom he knew would miss him and long for his safe return. Even his trial in Norvos had been different, for back then Sandor’s fate was decided in the matter of days, whereas this separation could take months, and even a couple of years.

  Yet there was one thing that was the same though. Sandor was going to feel conscious of his every move for what he was about to do next, just as he had back when the Council of Magisters had judged him before the eyes of their city.

  Clenching his jaw, Sandor finally strode over to the raised dais, and his boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth surface of the snow as he had passed frosted shrubs and think dark trees. He climbed the steps and went to stand behind his wife, not wishing to anger the people of White Harbour by putting himself beside the Stark siblings, remembering all the while that Sansa wanted him near her as she announced to the world for the first time about their child. He was only too glad to do as she asked him though, for he wanted to see everyone’s reactions, and see how they all would take the news. Sandor could not help but notice how the northerners before him were still regarding him with fear and suspicion and resentment.

  His eyes scanned the crowd, noticing the resentful, angry, sullen and fearful looks everyone was giving him, before he settled his stare on his wife as she pulled back the hood of the cloak trimmed with grey fur and winter roses she was wearing, her auburn hair blowing in the wind, and streaked with sunlight. Sandor felt the urge to reach out to touch his bird’s hair, but held back, positioning his hand on the pommel of his longsword in warning to anyone who cared to take it as one.

  Sansa was nervous, but she nodded reassuringly at Rickon before she cleared her throat and said in a loud and clear voice, “Good people of White Harbour, today is a special day. A day to be remembered in memory by the north for years to come, since it is on this morning that hope is born once again in our hearts as our brave men set out to recover what has been stolen from us…”

  The little bird gave a speech fit for the queen she had been meant to be, rallying the morale of the loyal Stark bannermen by proclaiming that the North would fight to the very end to recover Winterfell from the clutches of their enemies and avenge their murdered Lord and Lady Stark at long last, along with their King of the North, Ser Wendel Manderly, and all the relatives and bannermen slaughtered by the Freys, and in the south. And when Sansa talked about how all the thoughts and prayers of every woman in the north would be about the men who were leaving them behind to fight for the lord and lady of Winterfell, and for the land they had all been born on, Hagen could not help but remark to Sandor in a whisper, “She’s besotted them all.”

  Sandor agreed with pride swelling inside his chest at the current sight of his bird before him. White Harbour looked upon Sansa and what they saw was the daughter of Ned Stark, a beacon of hope in the dark times that had settled in the north lately. But all Sandor could see right now was _his_ little bird as she had been last night after she had fallen asleep with her head resting on his shoulder, her soft skin pressed against him for her hand had been thrown across his chest and her long legs had been in his even longer ones.

  What Sandor was seeing was his lover, his wife, his best friend and the only person he had ever trusted and the only one he would die for in an instant without a second thought. As she slept beside him a while ago, Sansa had looked so young and innocent, so defenseless and pure, that all Sandor could do was wrap his arms around her and listen to her quiet soft breathing, no longer wondering how such a girl could love him despite knowing exactly what he had been like in the past, just grateful for having had the opportunity to get to this point in his life with the little bird beside him, unable to even think of what a life without Sansa at the end of the long road would be like for him.

  Sansa, the woman who had changed his life like he had no bloody idea someone ever could, proving to him that she could accept the good and the bad and the worst of him and even let his seed grow inside her with the proudest smile he had ever seen; the girl who had grown from the proper little bird trapped in a golden cage that managed to survive the pit of vipers that was King’s Landing on her own, to the young woman who stood before a city, not for the first time, and showed the direwolf inside her.

  It had been true what Sandor had told her last night, after he had watched Sansa trying so hard to guard her emotions. Yet when Sandor had seen sadness and anxiety and worry etched so clearly on his little bird’s beautiful face due to the feeling of loss and pain Sansa was enduring because of their separation, he had reminded her that she was stronger than what he could ever hope to be.

  For when Gregor had fucked his life up, Sandor had grown into a broken man who expected the worst of the world, and was therefore not disappointed when fate wasn’t fair. But Sansa had remained as good and kind on the inside as she had always been even after the Lannisters or the High Sheep, and had even been able to change some of his ways with time by testing everything he’d thought he knew about himself, for he was really only himself when he was with Sansa. Sansa, the strong woman to whom he really _meant_ something, and who he was forced to leave behind as she carried his child inside her.

  _I’m leaving them both behind_ , Sandor thought, still disliking it to the point where he hated himself, since being unable to decide what to do always made him angry. But he knew it was of no use to go down that road of regret again. Not anymore, not on this day. All he could do was hope, and deal every day with the ever present knowledge that the consequences of his and Sansa’s decisions could either turn out to be good, or deadly for them both.

  “Winter is our best weapon,” Sansa pointed out as Sandor brought his thoughts back to the present, gaining confidence with every word she spoke. “And if used to our advantage, that and the righteous justice to our aims, will be what shall keep our brave men going in the time they are to spend fighting in the bitter cold. My husband, whom most of you have met, or at least heard of, I’m sure, will help us all if you allow him in reaching our goal, for Lord Sandor Clegane is a legendary fighter.

  He knows about formations and trenches and crossfire and camps and counterattacks, on the move or not, as well as how to build necks and tramps and delay defenses. It is partly because of my lord husband’s skills that he has been made commander of our brave garrison by Ser Marlon, but also because as part of my family, he wants fight for the honour of House Stark more than anything, and is ready to prove it to anyone who cares to allow it.”

  Sansa’s words about him made Sandor’s mouth begin to twitch, and he shifted his weight from his right leg to the left one as all eyes were turned to regard him under either suspicious or uncertain frowns. _Silly little bird_ , Sandor thought, shaking his head, not really surprised she would do this. He had never doubted that when the moment came Sansa would face anyone unflinchingly about how matters stood with him, never wavering in her respect and affection for him so that the world had no choice but to accept him, however grudgingly. But Sandor knew she hadn’t yet accomplished that, not that it was her fault.

  _They want the best for you so long as it’s something of which I have no part_. _They hate me for being lowborn and the Lannisters’ former dog, and because I outrank them all as your husband_. _They still think of me as an upstart who took you for my own ambitions_.

  He could never get angry at his wife for what she was doing, but Sandor couldn’t help it if one part of him still considered that her words about him to the northerners were useless since they were falling on ears that didn’t wish to hear anything that was not bad about him.

  “If you still doubt my words about Lord Clegane,” Sansa was saying with determination now, “there is something he and I can do to give you all hope for the future. Hope for victory and for the spring, because in this winter of our revenge, a child will be born of the blood of Winterfell- the Winterfell broken and burnt and usurped but still standing strong- who will be Eddard of the Houses Stark and Clegane if it is a boy.”

  Sandor didn’t look away at all from the crowd before him as Sansa finally revealed that she was carrying his child. He wanted to register how everyone reacted to the news as the memory of the little bird’s reasoning to announce this publicly ran through his mind.

  Sansa had told him that using it would be extremely uplifting for the northern people’s spirits if they knew that the Stark line would not perish since she was carrying a little direwolf pup in her tummy, because even if there was Rickon, the boy was too young and there was still danger to the bloodline should any harm befall him.

  “It will be good for the people of the north to hear about our child, and will also help us secure my family’s hold on Winterfell,” she had assured him as they broke their fast the other morning. “And help Rickon’s bannermen and all the rest respect you too, as gods forbid, the father of a possible Lord Stark, regardless of how little we would actually want that to happen in the end.”

  And Sandor was relieved and a little surprised to see that Sansa had been right, for once she stopped talking about him and spoke the tidings of their babe, the crowd began to cheer and clap in honour of Lord Rickon, little Lord Eddard and Lady Sansa. He could not help but feel relieved then that he had at least done something right in the eyes of these people by naming his son- if it was a boy- after Eddard Stark- a deed which would not add insult to injury thankfully.

  _They can’t say Sansa is going to have my bastard and call that truth._ Not for the first time Sandor was glad he had waited to fuck his little bird for so long back in Essos, despite them both going mad with anticipation and frustrated pleasure. If anyone dared called her the Hound’s bitch behind her back, questioning her honour…

  Yet when the excitement at the news of his son or daughter died away, Sandor was taken aback by what the little bird did next, for she had not told him she had been intending to do that.

  “If you do not mind, then I would now like to take a brief moment to bid farewell to some of the brave and gallant knights that ride out today,” Sansa told the people of the New Castle, earning even more of their love than she already had.

  Sandor had grown up with the Lannisters, and knew what the smallfolk and nobleborn thought of the lions of the west, so it was not difficult for him to catch the sharp contrast between people who actually seemed happy and proud of their rulers, and the way everyone had hated or at least disliked Tywin Lannister and his sick offspring.

  With wary eyes and a loosened sword inside his scabbard after the little bird asked him to please remain on the dais with her brother, Sandor watched his wife descend the steps and walk over to the first line of knights, flanked by Hagen Edar and Donnel and Damon, two of the three brothers the Manderlys had assigned to guard over Sansa and Rickon and Lady Wynafryd and Lady Wylla after Sandor had at last decided to accept those men near the people he cared for most in this world.

  The little bird greeted fifteen knights, and whenever she was done with one idiot, the man would call out a blessing in her honour. _If they’ve grown to love the Starks n the weeks we’ve spent here, they’re going to go mad for them now_. Yet what surprised Sandor was to see how Sansa decided to stop and _talk_ to the fucking knights who had wanted to draw steel against him after they had first arrived at White Harbour. 

_Seven hells, she wouldn’t dare_ , Sandor thought in alarm, even as Sansa actually turned to look at him with a smile after she left her place before Ser Arron and the sodding Manderly brothers, Ser Rickard and Ser Rorn. Sandor knew by his wife’s smile and the expressions on the knights’ faces what his mad little bird had just interceded for him to those sons of whores. _She probably told them how much we mean to each other and how she is sure that by entrusting me to their bloody care she is certain no harm will come to me_ , Sandor gathered, a suspicion that was confirmed when Edar looked over at him and gave him a look that defy him to question his wife’s actions or the naïve reasoning behind it.

  But when the little bird climbed back to the dais and walked over to him as the crowd began talking momentarily amongst themselves about everything that had happened that they had just learned, Sandor wasn’t able to reproach Sansa for what she had just done for him, and only rasped roughly when she stood before him and he had regarded her with an annoyed frown, “I didn’t know you were going to do that.”

  “Are you angry with me, Lord Clegane?”

  Sandor shrugged, but also gave a brief shake of his head to let his wife know he wasn’t. If only for Sansa’s sake Sandor wished her pleas about him to the puffed up knights would work better than the ones she’d done for her father to Joffrey.

  Looking thoroughly relieved that he was not angry with her for asking the sodding knights to stop resenting him, Sansa chirped prettily, “I’m glad, then. I actually feared I would give myself away to you at any moment and you would then find out about it and ask me not to do it.”

  “Why?” he growled.

  “Because I’m a terrible liar, remember? You’ve said so yourself more than once in the past. And it-”

  Sandor cut her off before she could finish by snarling, “You’re not as bad as you used to be, Sansa. And you did well with your speech. Better than well.”

  “Thank you,” Sansa said, as he reached out to give her hand a quick squeeze, mindful of all the eyes that were on them as they stood upon the dais. “I was so nervous at first, but your child gave me the strength and courage that I needed.”

  _Fuck_. The little bird couldn’t have said anything better to make him feel as if his heart had lodged in his throat. Sandor had already bid his farewells to their child last night, marveling at the taut firmness of his wife’s belly, as he tried to gather his thoughts to see what exactly he could tell his child, because even if Sandor knew how bloody stupid talking to the bird’s tummy must have looked like, he wanted his child to know who its father had been. _Had I said nothing to him- or her- I would have regretted it forever_.

  Sansa’s Tully blue stare was piercing as Sandor took a step forward, and gently yanked her closer to him. He would have cursed the crowd before them to burn in seven hells and not even turn to look as he took Sansa in his arms and kissed her long and deep, but just in that the moment between them broke as Rickon’s voice cut through the air as he said, “My sister Sansa and I can’t fight because she is going to have a baby and I am not big enough yet, though we both wanted to go home very much. I agree with everything she said because I know our men will win. Even if I can’t go, I’ve chosen for my direwolf Shaggydog to go with Sandor to win Winterfell back for us, and kill the bad people that stole it from us, for even if Sandor was born in the south, he’s a northerner now.”

  Sansa and Sandor turned to look at the men and women before them as they all drew in their breath as one. They all looked as shocked as when Sansa had told them about their babe, but Rickon had faced worse thing that disapproving stares or unbelieving whispers, and despite his age, he was already their lord, and the northerners didn’t dare contradict him- at least not to his young face- about this decision.

  So the boy, who looked the part of a lord after his sister had made sure he was washed and his hair was cut, went on saying after the tumult had died down a bit, “Sandor’s horse Stranger will be going as well. Stranger and Shaggy will frighten anyone who comes upon them. You can all trust me on that. You’ll see. Shaggy, come!”

  And then, without another moment to lose, Sandor saw how the big black direwolf who had squatted on his hindquarters this whole time at the back of the dais, his green eyes observing everything and everyone, bounded to his feet and stalked towards his masters side.

  “Sandor, you must come here too,” Rickon told him, looking back at him and Sansa.

  Sandor strode forward after Sansa gave him a little smile of encouragement, but he didn’t really like doing this, since he hadn’t even wanted to take the wolf with him in the first place, but if the little bird’s brother didn’t do this, then Shaggy wouldn’t to part from the boy’s side.

  “Shaggy, you must go with Sandor now,” Rickon told the direwolf as if the animal was a person as he cupped the wolf’s head in his hands and looked deep into his eyes. “You must protect him because he’s your brother now, too, but also because the North needs you. You know I’m too little and can’t go. So you must go and fight in my stead, for the Starks, for your brother Grey Wind and your sister Lady.

  I want you to obey Sandor in everything. That’s an order. You can’t leave him alone, not in the day or in the night. Follow him everywhere just like you follow me. Do you understand? You can’t fail me, Shaggy, because if you do then me and Sansa will be alone again, and you too, cause then how could Summer and Nymeria and Ghost have a home to return to like Jojen promised? I will meet you again here but we must each hunt alone for a time now. Promise me you’ll return too, Shaggy.”

  The wolf looked his master in that moment as if he understood every word, Sandor thought. A deep growl came from Shaggy’s throat as Sandor caught Sansa’s stare then, and though the little bird looked moved by what was happening, she didn’t cry. She only stared at him as if he was the only man in the world left.

  A sniff caught Sandor’s attention though, and when he turned around to look back at Rickon and the direwolf, Sandor was surprised to see that the boy was not staring at Shaggydog, but was actually looking at him as he said, “Promise me by the old gods you’ll return.”

  _He’s asking me to promise him I’ll not fail and will return alive_ , Sandor realized quickly. And the boy was doing it by asking him to swear by his gods! _He’s pretending to talk to Shaggy to appear brave, but he’s talking to me_.

  With a brief curt nod he hoped not many noticed, Sandor had no other to choice but to silently promise Rickon that he would come back, disliking it because he knew there was a chance he wouldn’t, and lying to the boy was not going to do him one bit of good, but Sansa’s brother was looking at him the way Sansa always did just before she was about to cry, and thinking about his little bird crying was not something Sandor needed in these trying moments. _I have to be strong for her sake_.

  After he had nodded in Rickon’s direction, the boy started crying as he threw his arms around the direwolf, but Shaggydog was so big Rickon couldn’t really even wrap his arms around the animal’s neck. The wolf nuzzled at his master first, before he decided to instead roughly lick the tears that were falling down the lad’s cheeks, but when Rickon said loudly, “Go now,” Shaggydog twisted free of the boy’s grasp, his ears pricked up, and bounded to Sandor’s side as he stood upon the dais before several dozens of people.

  Feeling conscious of his every bloody move, and of the whispers and the stares that were directed at him, Sandor went on one knee beside the direwolf and scratched the thick black fur on his neck, remembering that morning back in Braavos when this very wolf had thrown him to the ground in the middle of Ragman’s Harbour. _His eyes remind me of the wildfire every single sodding time I look at him_.

  “Shaggydog,” Sandor rasped, as the wolf observed him, his hot breath rising in a white mist before his face. He could have laughed right there and then as he wondered if he was the first man who was not a Stark who had ever had a direwolf- even if only for a while. Yet Sandor’s laugh would have been a bitter one, for he had just gained a wolf, but would be leaving his wife and child behind.

  When he raised his head to look at the little bird, Sansa was smiling softly down at him because she knew that was better than letting the crowd see her grief. When the Manderlys started walking towards the steps so they could get down from the dais, Sandor, Sansa, Rickon, the direwolf, Hagen, Donnel and Damon followed. Sandor and Sansa both did it with a heavy heart though, and the moment their feet touched the ground the little bird reached out to grab his hand in a tight grip as she stared for a moment at her brother as Osha said to him, “Say your goodbyes, little man,” when Hagen and The Onion moved forward in their direction. 

  His beautiful Sansa turned around to look up at him after a moment only to find him already gazing down at her with longing in his eyes.

  “You have the dagger with you, don’t you?” Sandor asked her in a serious tone.

  Sansa’s eyes widened a bit at that, but after a moment she nodded and patted a pocket of her skirts.

  “Yes,” she assured him, already drawing it out to show him.

  Sandor reached out to stop her, glancing to his side before he shook his head and growled, “Keep it hidden. At _all_ times. And don’t forget that I’ve thought you how to use it if the need arises.”

She opened her pretty mouth to say something, but didn’t get the chance to get the words out for in that moment Davos strode over to them so he could bid his farewells to Sansa. Reluctantly they turned away from each other, though they were close enough so that their backs kept on grazing against the other as the Manderlys stepped beside him so they could bid him farewell.

  Sandor tried to pretend that he was listening to what Wynafryd, Wylla and Ser Marlon were telling him, but all he could think about was his little bird, and how _these_ were truly the last moments they would be together.

  When the Manderlys moved off to talk to Seaworth after he had asked them to look after his family, Sandor turned around and looked at his wife as Hagen hugged her like a long-lost sister, while she chirped, “Please make sure he takes care to keep warm. Please keep him safe, Hagen. He means the world to me.”

  “I will,” Hagen replied, meeting Sandor’s eyes, amusement etched over his bloody face. “You are an extraordinary woman, Sansa, and I hope that as your sworn arrow I do not disgrace you in the trials at hand.”

  “I know you won’t, my gallant sworn arrow” Sansa said, leaning her head on Sandor’s chest as he walked over to her side, settling his hands on her waist. “Take care as well, my dearest friend. And please, remember to be careful with Stannis.”

  _Bloody hells_ , Sandor thought sullenly when Sansa and he had to part sides once again while he bid farewell to Rickon once he was finished with Osha and the Lorathi had stepped forward to shake the wildling woman’s hand, thanking her for all her patience when she had taught him about the Common Tongue and the customs of the north. _She’s sending Edar as my sodding wet-nurse_. That annoyed him greatly.

  “Back when I was at Winterfell,” Osha told Hagen with a wry smile. “I thought there could not be a better archer than that smiley Theon Greyjoy, the old gods curse him. But you’ve proven me wrong. You’re better, and those whole bunches of kneelers you’re taking to war with you are lucky to have you teaching them.”

  “Ah my dearest lovely Osha!  I thank you,” Edar exclaimed, laughing and giving the startled wildling woman a hug.

  When Hagen moved away Sandor stepped forward so that he could ask Osha to please protect and look after Sansa and Rickon both. And my child too.”

  When Sandor was done warning Dammon and Donnel to be on their guard, he walked over to young Rickon, who was standing all by himself, looking at him as Shaggydog followed his footsteps.

  “I don’t want you to go,” Rickon said, lips trembling and eyes still shining bright with tears once Sandor had reached him. “Nor Shaggy. Do you think you will have come back by my name day? Sansa says it’ll be soon, but I don’t remember when it was.”

  “I don’t really think we will be able to make it when you turn eight,” Sandor admitted. “But what I _can_ promise you is that I will take care of your wolf, and will do my best to return to your sister’s and your side as soon as possible. You believe me?”

  Rickon sniffed and nodded vigorously. _Good_ , Sandor thought, considering for a moment if he should risk it before deciding that he should. _Fuck, I’m going off to war. I have to ask someone trustworthy this even if that someone is only a seven year old_.

  “Now it’s my turn to ask you to do something for me, boy,” Sandor rasped, squatting before Rickon as he put a hand on the boy’s shoulder to steady himself. “Rickon, you’re the Lord of Winterfell. You’re the man in your family, and have to take care of your sister. If- Rickon if something were to happen to her-”

  “Sandor, she’s my _sister_ ,” Rickon interrupted, sparing him the need to go on. “I’ll protect her like Robb and Bran did with me, and her baby too. Like you and Osha have, and I will keep on practicing my training too.”

  To have Rickon say these things, and to hear how certain he seemed that just because the little bird was his sister, it was obvious he was going to protect her, surprised Sandor more than anything that had happened this morning. The sharp reality between the relationship between the Stark siblings and the one he and Arwyn had had with Gregor had never been clearer.

  Trying hard to hide his smirk, Sandor reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair, and snarled, “You’ll be a good Lord of Winterfell one day, Rickon. I’m proud of you.”

  Rickon looked at him with big wide hopeful eyes- eyes that looked too much like Sansa’s. Looking quickly around him to make sure no one saw, Sandor leaned over to give Sansa’s brother an awkward hug. He had meant for it to be brief, but Rickon clung to him as a drowning person would a raft in the middle of sea, so Sandor had no choice but to give the lad a couple of pats on the back, before Osha moved forward and said, “There there, Rickon. Let Lord Clegane go bid your sister farewell now.”

  After Rickon and Osha had walked away, Sandor sighed long and deep, and stood up slowly. His eyes met Shaggydog’s as the wolf kept on staring at him and Rickon with the head tilted to one side, as if he was still trying to understand that he was meant to leave the boy’s side for good. With a shake of the head, Sandor turned around to see where his little bird had flown to, knowing with a heavy heart the time had come for them to bid their farewells.

  Sandor was not surprised when he saw moments later that Sansa was standing by her own a little distance ahead looking at him as she hugged herself. Her eyes said so much there was no need for her to even chirp for him to understand or feel what was going on behind the beautiful composed masked she had donned on as an expression.

  Slowly, Sandor walked up to her in five long strides, and when he’d reached her he took one good look at her before snarling quietly, “Will you come with me?”

  With a little smile Sansa nodded, and then they started walking side by side, she followed him towards the shadow of the castle walls where he had tied Stranger up earlier. Before they had even reached the horse they were already holding hands. Once Stranger saw them and gave a loud neigh of recognition, Sandor led the little bird around his warhorse so the animal could conceal them and give them some sort of privacy in these moments.

  Everything that he had lived through with the little bird was running through his mind as he pushed Sansa against the wall, making it harder for him to say everything that he wanted to tell his wife now. So instead Sandor looked Sansa over top to bottom, before taking her in his arms, holding her close to him, his hand buried in the hair at the back of her head, his scarred lips pressed to her forehead. _She smells so good, so sweet. She always has_.

  “I don’t want you to go,” Sansa told him in a hoarse voice, as she started trembling in his arms.

  “I don’t want to go,” Sandor admitted roughly, as his bird raised her face, tilting her neck back.

  Sandor lowered his face, and at first Sansa kissed him lightly, but the merest brush of her lips on his only made him claim her mouth hard, and before long his little bird was pressing kisses on both sides of his face, lingering on his burns a heartbeat more than she did on the stubble that grew on the other side. Sandor could feel his eyes burning, and overwhelmed, he suddenly dropped to one knee and grabbed Sansa’s gloved hand, kissing the ring he had made for her.

  He raised his eyes to look at the woman before him, noticing with pride how Sansa wasn’t weeping in these moments. Young as she was, she truly was a princess born. Her smile was a little tremulous, but she was bearing herself with courage and dignity.

  “Come back to me, big man,” Sansa told him, cupping his face with one hand, as she grabbed his hand with her free one and placed them both over her tummy, looking up at him with such intensity that Sandor felt his insides tightened. “Come back to us both.”

  Sandor quickly stood up and pulled the little bird back for more kisses, refusing to let her go just yet as he growled, “I love you,” kissing Sansa’s face in between every word. “And don’t worry about me.”

  By then Seaworth and Edar were mounting, and grooms and squires were coming forward to give their mounts to the knights and bannermen. When Sandor got up on Stranger, he gave his little wife a smirk and ran his finger down the bridge of her nose as she came over to place her hand on his knee, asking him with ill concealed concern, “You aren’t missing anything, are you? I made sure you had food in your saddlebag and water in your skin, a blanket for Stranger and three for you, but I feel as if there’s something else that-”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything, little bird,” Sandor assured her, smirking down at her. “And I’m certain neither have you.”

  Sansa’s eyes left him momentarily when Shaggydog appeared before them all of a sudden, staring at Stranger as the warhorse lowered his face to him. With a weak chuckle Sansa ran the fingers of her free hand over Stranger’s dark mane, telling Sandor’s horse, “We’ll take care of Nan and Horse for you, but you must also take care of my husband, you know.”

  Stranger gave a loud neigh at Shaggy as the wolf turned around, alert, and with resigned laugh, Sansa turned back to look at Sandor again.

  “I love you too, Sandor,” she said softly, giving his knee a squeeze.

  “ _Sansa_ ,” was all Sandor could rasp, as he leaned down towards the little bird for one last kiss. Take care of yourself, and- and of the babe.”

  The little bird nodded, promising him silently that she would do so. It almost felt to Sandor as if the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life was ride away from Sansa’s side afterwards...

 

***

 

  They poured out the castle gates in a river of white, grey, blue-green, and polished silver as Shaggydog, who was flanking Sandor’s side along with Hagen, gave a long howl, to Stranger’s snort of approval. Sansa had told him that she would climb the walls of the New Castle to watch him leave, and Sandor could not help himself and kept turning back to stare at the distant figure of his little bird as a strong northern wind caught in her loose long auburn hair.

  He was glad to notice the hulking figures behind Sansa, since it meant Damon and Donnel had already taken their place as his wife’s guards. Sandor knew that his neck would be hurting by the time dusk fell and they settled down for the night, but he didn’t care about that one bloody bit as he and his men made their way west, to a land not only full of enemies on all sides, but which was been stricken by the worst winter that the north had seen in decades. Sandor was relieved at least that his wife would be spared all of that, as he imagined the day when he would be riding in the opposite direction- on the day he came back to White Harbour to the little bird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who reads, reviews, leaves kudos or bookmarks this chapter/story. I couldn’t write this fic without your constant and encouraging support :D


	53. Bid Time Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change their lives forever. Faraway lands and a journey of self discovery for both await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Disclaimers  
> \- I don’t gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt’s, Dante’s Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.  
> * Onborrowedwings, you’ve been helping me out for 12 months now!! I am so in your debt, and so very grateful to you for your constant support and help. I had no idea this fic would turn out to be so long and all, but I can say with certainty that it was my lucky day when you told me you wanted to be my beta. The biggest THANK YOU of all, chica!! x)  
> \- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).  
> \- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.
> 
>  
> 
> *The title of this chapter is taken from the book by the same name by Richard Matheson.
> 
> “It’s an odd feeling, farewell. There is some envy in it. Men go off to be tested for courage and if we are tested at all is for patience. For doing without. For how well we can endure loneliness. But I had always known that. It didn’t require a war…”   
> \- Quote from the movie Out of Africa. 
> 
> *I have always loved those words, and I think they capture what women must feel like when they watch their husbands, brothers, sons, fathers and relatives go away to fight, leaving them behind to wait for them. I just wanted to include this at the start of the chapter cause those words kept running in mind over and over again as I wrote chapter 53. (:

  The baby was wriggling in her young mother’s arms, her little arms getting tangled with the cloth they had wrapped her into, her face starting to turn red from so much restless movement.

  “Can I?” Sansa dared ask after a moment, smiling at Ter.

  She could tell that her words surprised little Gilly’s mother by the way Ter’s eyes widened, and she looked at her baby and then at Sansa twice before she gave a hesitant nod, and said with ill concealed alarmed, “If- if you like, m’lady, but- you don’t have to.”

  “But I want to,” Sansa quickly assured Ter, carefully taking Gilly in her arms, cradling her gently to her chest. “I’m sure she is a charming baby.”

  Sansa looked down at Gilly with amusement as the baby rubbed her face with her little fists, before she started hiccupping. Sansa began to hum a tune she hoped would soothe little Gilly, and it thankfully seemed to work, for the baby began to tenderly grab Sansa’s long lock of hair in play.

  “She likes you,” Ter said shyly, rocking where she sat at the edge of her pallet on the ground beside Sansa.

  Sansa met the young mother’s eyes with a raised eyebrow, and asked, “You really think so?”

  Ter nodded in reply, reaching out to brush her child’s soft scarce hair. Though she wasn’t much older than Sansa, there was a shy manner in the way Ter carried herself that made one feel as if the little girl she had been not so long ago was still hiding behind her black bright eyes.

  Maybe it was because the age difference between them wasn’t very big, or because both Sansa and Ter were meant to know love and motherhood at such a young age, or maybe it was because Ter’s husband had gone away with Sandor’s garrison to Winterfell, but whatever the reason, there was something in the buxom plump and short young woman with the apple-red cheeks that appealed to Sansa, and which made her wish to become her friend.

  “You should be proud,” Sansa told the woman. “Your daughter is very pretty, and I’ve found out that not all babies are so easily calmed.”

  “Aye, she takes after Rawney’s side of the family,” Ter replied humbly.

  “Rawney is your husband’s name?”

  “Yes, m’lady.”

  “And are you here with your family, or- ?” Sansa began to enquire, before Ter interrupted her with a shake of the head, and spared her the need to go on with the question as she explained, “No, I’ve got no family no more, m’lady. My mother died when I was little, and father cast me out from the house when I told him I wanted to be with Rawney.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Sansa said sincerely.

  Ter shrugged carelessly, huddling further into the blanket she’d been given, and went on with growing confidence as she became more at ease in Sansa’s presence, “I expected it, to tell ye the truth. He always wanted me to marry a knight, but no knight ever looked my way, so when Rawney came along and we fell for each other, I never even remember to ask him if he had a ser before his name. Never cared that he was just a soldier till the day he had to leave me and the girl.”

  Sansa nodded in understanding, for she knew that even if in the north knights and their vows, along with the Seven and other traditions from the south were of little consequence to its people, here in White Harbour such customs and beliefs were of far greater importance. 

  _We also have this in common then_ , Sansa thought, realizing that neither Sandor nor Rawney were knights. _But a man’s worth is not marked by a ser before his_ _name_. She of all people knew that better than anyone after knowing someone like Sandor so well- a man who was disdainful of knighthood and everything it represented, yet was a better man than many of the knights Sansa had known in the past.

  “So you are all alone here then?” Sansa asked after a moment, sparing a look at their surroundings as she gathered that Ter had at least been lucky enough to have her child’s father by her side when the time to give birth had occurred.

  “Oh no, m’lady,” Ter answered. “Rawney left me with his mother and sisters.”

  _At least there is someone_ , Sansa was glad to learn. It was a relief to hear that yet another woman or another orphan were not fending for themselves here in the Old Mint.

  “I can tell by the way you speak of him that he is a good man,” Sansa pointed out, recognizing the warmth in Ter’s voice as she spoke of her husband, since it sounded just like Sansa’s own voice did whenever she spoke of her big man.

  Ter blushed at that, and confirmed Sansa’s words, encouraging the latter to remark, “Well then, I think both of us are very lucky to have such brave husbands. Our men have gone off to protect us all and save not only my home but the whole north from the horrible men that think to steal it from my brother and me.”

  “The Hound-” Ter began, before she realized what she had just called Sansa’s husband, and quickly started stammering, “Oh! I- I’m sorry- I- Lord Clegane, I meant- is- I’m sorry, m’lady.”

  “It’s all right,” Sansa told the young woman, used to the fact that despite the Manderlys open support of her husband, and her clear love for him, it was going to take years before the north stopped thinking of Sandor as anything other than the Hound. “What were you going to say about my husband, Lord Clegane?”

  Ter still looked deeply sorry for her blunder, but after Sansa smiled kindly at her, the young mother answered, “I was just going to say that- that Lord Clegane must be very proud. For- for your own baby, I mean.”

  “Oh yes, he is,” Sansa confirmed at once, her smile widening confidently. “I don’t think I will ever forget the way he looked when we learned we were expecting our first child.”

  The memory of that whole day would never fade in Sansa’s mind, and even now the knowledge that she was carrying the child of the man she loved so much overwhelmed her. Still smiling, Sansa lowered her face to stare down at little Gilly in her arms, and she delicately shifted the girl so she could reach out and pat the baby’s smooth cheek with her thumb, before she met the child’s eyes as Gilly gave her a long soft look.

  _Sandor would certainly be awkward when it came to handle the baby_ , Sansa found herself thinking. _But it would only be at first. I’m certain he would warm up to our child soon enough, and the baby to its father as well_.

  “You’ll be a great mother,” Ter said some moments later, breaking Sansa from her reverie.

  Sansa’s smile faltered a little at that. _She_ wasn’t even sure yet what was she carrying, despite Sandor’s certainty at their baby being a boy, but everything so far was so new to Sansa, and Wyn and Wylla could not really help her, since they had never been with child themselves: driving her to seek the help of the septas and the healing women of the New Castle and the Old Mint. _It’s just a little hard sometimes, to be all alone in this of all times._

  “You are too kind,” Sansa replied at last, handing back little Gilly at last to her mother. “I certainly hope so, but I would feel more at ease were I to know that if the moment ever came, I could count on your help for any question I may have about the birth, or how to deal with being a mother at such a young age.”

  Sansa didn’t think by the look on Ter’s face that she could have said anything else that would please the mother so much. She seemed surprised yet genuinely honoured to have Sansa seeking her advice, and was quick to assure her that she would be here for anything she needed.

  “You and Lady Wynafryd and her sister the Lady Wylla have been so generous to us all here,” Ter told Sansa. “And anything I can do to help ye, don’t doubt asking me, m’lady. Thank you so much Lady Stark.”

  “It’s nothing,” Sansa replied, content.

  She made Ter promise to come to her or Wyn or Wylla whenever she needed something for herself or her baby, before she shifted around on the little stool where she had been sitting, looking for Donnel, one of her and Rickon’s sworn shields, and finding him standing guard some steps behind her.

  Donnel noticed what Sansa wanted to do at once, and in the blink of an eye he bent down and was helping her to her feet. Sansa thanked the big man as he offered her his arm, which she declined, bidding Ter and Gilly farewell before she began to make her way down one of the many narrow rows of straw pallets and little fires that had been accommodated on the ground of the Old Mint.

  She could hear Donnel’s heavy footsteps behind her despite all the noise around her, and sighed, not only because the man following her wasn’t Sandor, but because it wouldn’t be that long before she grew big with child, and would be unable to refuse Donnel’s assistance if she meant to continue her visits to this refuge shelter. She wanted to continue at least until the point where she would have to start her confinement in the New Castle in order to avoid falling ill, and risking her child’s safety. Sansa had already started gaining a little weight after all, and her clothes felt as tight as ever, to the point where the dressmaker had been forced to take away most of her gowns so she could re-adjust them around the waist line.

  Sansa nodded at the people who gave her a bow or a curtsy, calling her “Lady Stark,” when she passed them by. As she walked over the woollen carpets that covered the ground of the cavernous high ceiling long wide building, amongst the cloisters of people all around her, she could not help but feel pleased to see that the Old Mint was as busy and as crowded as ever. It was full of smallfolk, amongst them women, children and old men, and though many had died in the time Sansa had spent so far in White Harbour, many arrived daily from the lands around the White Knife, desperately seeking the shelter that the thick whitewashed walls of this place afforded from not only the war now, but from winter.

  _At least they no longer have to eat by begging or stealing or selling their bodies,_ Sansa gathered, as a group of little children saw her walking near them, and ran to hold her hands and hide in her skirts, laughing with her. There were many children being fostered in this shelter, and though most of them were underfed and had lost loved ones or seen horrible things at a young age, they were always ready to trust and grow fond of you once they got to know you.

  And getting to know the northerners seeking shelter in the Old Mint was what occupied most of Sansa’s days now. Less than a week after Sandor and his garrison had left White Harbour, Wylla and Wyn had proposed to Sansa that it might do them all good to increase the time they were spending in helping the poor, offering any help they could possibly give to the refugees. 

  Sansa had accepted at once, grateful for the distraction, and pleasantly surprised when Osha admitted she wanted to lend a hand, encouraging little Rickon to offer his help as well. _Maybe they want to feel useful just like I do_ , Sansa had supposed when she had first heard her brother telling her that he was planning on accompanying her.

  But whatever the reason, it didn’t really matter. Coming here to the Old Mint and getting to know the people living here was the best thing that could have happened to Sansa at this moment of her life, when she stood in a position where many looked up to her, yet felt so alone at times that even the encouraging prospect of becoming a mother failed to cheer her up during Sandor’s absence.

  There was much to be done in the Old Mint aside from lending the coin to buy food supplies or giving the shelter provisions, Sansa had discovered quickly. So far she had spent days looking after children, cooking, washing, supervising the mending, stitching and hemming, or aiding the healing women with the sick. Having work to do felt refreshing to her, even if sometimes Sansa would only end up assisting someone else in these tasks; since not only had she never in her life learned how to scrub a floor, among many other things, but the people in charge said that they did not think it fit to have the Manderly ladies or Lord Eddard’s daughter meddling with such tasks.

  Yet the favourite thing Sansa enjoyed doing so far was getting to really _know_ the people of the Old Mint. It wasn’t only that Sansa felt somehow responsible for them all since they were her brother’s people, but the knowledge that she was actually not only helping them by sharing their workload, and making their hard lives a little easier, but by becoming their friends, humbled and strengthened Sansa both at the same time, reminding her of how important it was to be a good ruler to the people you were meant to look after.

  _Maybe I cannot go and fight for Winterfell, and rid the north of our foes_ , Sansa had realized some weeks ago, _but I_ can _get to know the northeners in a way that would make Father and Mother proud of me;_ a way she hoped she could teach her own child when the time came, if they all managed to come out of this war on the winning side, and they survived the long winter. Even Wyn and Wylla had remarked at how easily it was for Sansa to win over the smallfolk, earning their trust faster than others did.

  Sansa had quickly discovered that she was a good listener, and didn’t mind spending hours each afternoon learning about the lives of the women who had lost and learned just as much as she had during the past years, or about the stories the old men that were also living at the shelter had to tell. _I feel useful here, and I’m occupied from morning till dusk_.

  She especially liked hearing the tales about the men who had fought alongside her father during Robert’s Rebellion or Balon Greyjoy’s First Rebellion, and Sansa would encourage everyone to share with her their hopes and histories, answering the questions the smallfolk ventured to ask her from time to time with a smile and a readiness that startled yet pleased them.

  As Sansa reached the wide room at the back of the cavernous hall where Wynafryd was supervising the cooking of the meals for later today, Sansa asked her friend if there was anything she could do, but was told by Wyn that there wasn’t.

  “The food is almost ready,” Wynafryd told her, looking pointedly at her tummy. “And in any case, shouldn’t you go and seat down and rest, Sansa?”

  “I’ve just spend almost an hour sitting down,” Sansa answered, covering her bump unconsciously with her hand, and sparing a look behind her to see if Donnel was still following her. “I was with that young mother Ter and her little girl. Are you certain you don’t need me to go see if the table is already being set at the common room?”

   Wyn actually laughed at that, and with a shake of the head replied, “I am certain, I assure you. Everything is almost ready as I said. The butter has been churned, the bread will soon be taken out of the oven, and you can probably tell by the smell of the crab stew that dinner will be ready in less than an hour.”

  Sansa’s tummy tightened as the smells of the food reached her. She looked over at the boiling pots above the fires, glad for the fact that even if the food of the Old Mint was quite plain, it tasted good and was fulfilling, even if there wasn’t too much variety in what the smallfolk ate here, some days alternating between a thick stew of crabs or mussels, and several different kinds of fishes. 

  With a reluctant shrug and a long sigh Sansa turned around and walked away, gathering that in this spare time she should then go and pay a visit to the Old Mint’s sept, since she hadn’t yet prayed today to the Seven for Sandor and Hagen and Shaggy and all the other brave men who had gone away.

  The sept in the refuge wasn’t really what one would call a proper sept, since it only consisted of a little room in one of the corners of the Old Mint being turned into a modest altar where wooden carved figure of the new gods had been placed- a room that was lightened up by candles at all times, its only decoration being the stained glass windows set in pointed arches to either side.

  At this hour it was empty when Sansa arrived but for an old man with a bent back who was whispering a prayer before the altar of the Smith. Sansa’s eyes fixed on the figure of the Warrior at once, and she stood there on the threshold of the sept for a long time, her thoughts and prayers on her husband, before all of a sudden she gave a little start when a heavy hand was placed on her shoulder and a rough voice said, “My lady.”

  A shiver ran through her body as Sansa heard that, but it only took her a moment to come out of her train of thoughts and realize who the voice and the hand belonged to. _Not Sandor’s_ , she thought quickly with a heavy heart. _No, how could it be? Of course it couldn’t be his_.

  Donning a smile on her face, Sansa turned around, exclaiming, “You startled me, Septon Brent.”

  “I apologize for that. Yet is good to see you here with the gods, Lady Clegane,” Septon Brent said with that rough voice of his, giving Sansa the shadow of a bow.

  Septon Brent was one of the few people in White Harbour who called Sansa by her married name, and she never cared to correct him, since she enjoyed hearing herself being addressed like that by others.

  “I was praying to the Warrior for my husband’s welfare,” Sansa admitted as she began to walk away from the little sept in order to avoid her conversation with the septon’s interrupting the old man at his prayers.

  “Ah yes, Sandor Clegane,” the septon replied, walking beside her. “I have included him in my prayers ever since I had the honour of meeting you both.”

  “Thank you for that,” Sansa said, trying to hide the little smirk that came to her face as she imagined the expression on Sandor’s face and the remark he would have rasped were he to learn this. “I greatly appreciate it.”

  Though Sansa knew that Sandor had never cared much for the man, Sansa couldn’t really find any fault with Septon Brent. He was a learned man who knew the Seven Pointed Star by memory, and had been a wandering septon for decades before the war, alternating between visiting the scarce market towns, small villages, and holdfast in the north, and living on the smallroads, unmapped tracks, and caves in the wild, all the while naming newborn babies, performing marriages and absolving sins.

  The children had confided to Sansa that many were a little scared of him due to his appearance, and his stern expression. The man had a heavy jaw, a veined red nose, a wind burnt face with grey bushy eyebrows, and a shaved head. He always wore brown woolen robes that went down to his ankles, with wide bell sleeves and a pointed cowl.

  The cowl was thrown back in this moment, Sansa noticed, and recalling that Ter had told her earlier that she was also a little frightened of this man, Sansa decided to remark, “I was just with Ter, the young woman who had her child a fortnight ago.”

  “Ter..? Ah yes, I know of whom you speak. One of our young mothers. Her husband went away with yours to Winterfell, didn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Sansa answered, leading the way out of the cavernous room, and stepping into the cool narrow corridor that led to the backyard outside the building where she knew her brother and Osha and Wylla were at. “He left her with his own family because Ter’s father made it clear he never wanted to see her again after she told him whom was she marrying.”

  Septon Brent sighed and rubbed his face twice before commenting, “A sad tale, but I’ve just heard of a sadder one today. Brother Robin just informed me that the guards down at the Seal Rock ended up hanging that poor boy who attacked the beggar three days ago.”

  “Oh no,” Sansa said, remembering the incident. “How old was he?”

  “Fourteen, I believe,” the septon replied, waving his hand. “I can understand why it had to be done, but still, he was a _boy_.”

  “It is horrible,” Sansa agreed, thinking back on her own siblings and the possible horrors they had all been made to endure.

  “And it’s just the beginning,” Septon Brent commented darkly. “Brother Owen, Brother Justin, Brother Robin and I are doing the best we can to avoid disorder, but there is so much to do. We are busy with a hundred duties, and there is more to do with every passing day.

  Though we are really grateful to you and both Lady Manderlys’, I’m afraid of what will we do when winter is truly upon us. How will we feed so many mouths? I can only beseech the gods to have mercy on us all, and keep this city from being stricken by some plague or disease.”

  “If there is anything I can do,” Sansa began to say, recalling the coin Hagen Edar had saved for her in the Iron Bank, before the septon interrupted her with, “You are doing enough already, Lady Clegane, as are Lady Wynafryd and Lady Wylla. I expect that the time of your confinement will soon arrive, but when it does I will ask of you to keep on praying to the Seven- and not only for your husband, but for all of us.”

  “Of course,” Sansa promised, entwining her hands before her. “I will do so daily, and by the Old Gods as well, you can be sure of that. I trust you know how much the people appreciate all that you and the brothers are doing for them.”

  The hint of a small smile betrayed Septon Brent’s face for a heartbeat, before he remarked, “I shall try and remember that tonight during readings.”

  She could not help but blush at that, and looked down at the floor in shame, remembering what had happened last week, when the smallfolk had invited her and the others to stay and dine with them in the common room.

  Everything had gone well at first. Septon Robin had pronounced a prayer before the food was served on the long trestle tables, and a woman had even played for them all on a little harp she had managed to bring with her from her home. She had filled the room with its soft sweet sounds for a time, before Septon Brent stood up and announced he would continue his nightly reading of the The Seven-Pointed Star.

  Sansa had listened at first with rapt attention, easily remembering nights long ago spent in Winterfell with her lady mother reading out loud to her the same words, and had therefore been just as surprised as everyone else in the hall when she realized about an hour later, along with everyone else in the hall, that Wylla, Wyn and herself had fallen asleep where they sat, missing more than half of Septon Brent’s reading.

  The hall had erupted in laughter at that, and Sansa and her friends had giggled until they met Septon Brent’s stern cold expression, regarding them with reproach.

  They walked in silence for some moments now, Donnel’s heavy footsteps following close behind Sansa and the holy man, before Septon Brent remarked thoughtfully, “War has not yet truly reached us here. Yet tidings of the events happening in the Seven Kingdoms do. Even this morning a raven arrived from the south, with some news that surprised me.”

  “What have you heard?” she inquired at once.

  “It came from a good friend of mine’s in King’s Landing, so it was mostly about what has been occurring in the capital. It spoke of our current High Septon, whom I believe has earned the name the High Sparrow.”

  _How clever_ , Sansa thought, a little amused. The High Septon and the members of the Faith Militant had taken the name “sparrow” for themselves since the sparrow was apparently believed to be the most common of birds, and the Faith Militant was made up of the most common of those people sworn to the Faith.  

  “The High Septon wasn’t a member of the Most Devout before he was elected, was he?” Sansa inquired, knowing full well that the new High Septon had only earned that title after the sparrows took over the selection process that the members of the Most Devout were conducting, bursting into the room with axes in their hands, and their leader on their shoulders. 

  “His Holiness was not,” the septon beside Sansa admitted after a brief pause. “And he does not seem to indulge in the traditions that the Most Devout had practiced for years. My friend tells me the High Septon has an iron will.”

  Sansa shared that opinion. From what she had heard the current High Septon was very different from the ones Sansa had met in King’s Landing, not only because he had been humble enough to sell his crown in order to feed the poor, but for his more drastic actions and decisions, such as vouching for Cersei Lannister to do a walk of shame through the streets of the capital, and refusing for days to release Margaery Tyrell and her cousins from their arrest due to the various accusation against them and their virtue.

  From what Sansa had heard, King’s Landing was now being ruled by Lord Kevan Lannister, and by Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly, the former of which had been named Hand of the King, and the latter the Master of Laws. Sansa had not been as surprised as others to learn that Queen Cersei had allowed the Faith Militant to be restored once again after being disbanded from Westeros by King Jaehaerys I- an order which was compromised of the Sparrows or Poor Fellows, and of the knights who called themselves the Warrior’s Sons.

  The Poor Fellows were mostly poor peasants, and were similar to the Begging Brothers, since they both wandered the realm and escorted smallfolk through the land, but they, unlike the Begging Brothers, were armed. Lightly in comparison to the Warrior’s Sons, but still, they carried axes and cudgels, and wore star badges, red on white. The knights who joined the Faith Militant were expected to give up their lands, titles and possessions, and wear hair shirts underneath their amour. You could recognize them by the rainbow cloaks falling down their shoulders, and the swords which they carried, since their pommels were star-shaped.

  Sansa’s lessons on the Faith Militant had been a little rusty, and she had difficulty in recalling what Maester Luwin had taught her years ago about them, aside from the fact that Maegor the Cruel had repressed them after they started causing trouble to many members of Westeros’ most noble houses.

  Sandor had had little love for the Poor Fellows, calling them “bloody fanatics” when The Onion Knight had first told them about what was happening in the south weeks ago, yet that hadn’t stopped him from listening with interest to what Lord Seaworth had learned about them.

  “Why do you think Cersei restored them to power if they caused the Seven Kingdoms so much trouble?” Sansa had asked her big man later that day, as they walked side by side down the Waterway Stairs.

  “The crown owed the Faith thousands of dragons, little bird,” Sandor had replied, shrugging. “That bitch isn’t the smartest of women, and I bet she thought it wise to have the sparrows on her side rather than risking them all joining someone else who was willing to listen to their sodding cause. Bet Cersei didn’t remember though why Maegor the Cruel put a bounty on the sparrows’ heads in the first place.”

  Sansa knew Sandor was probably right, but she could not help but wonder what she would have done had _she_ been the queen in such a situation. She knew of the horrors that had assaulted the countryside- whether it was despoiled septs, or the many brutal killings and tortures many holy men and women had endured- and which had led to the sparrows forming up the Faith Militant, but Sansa didn’t really think that the Seven Kingdoms were any better now that the Poor Fellows and the Warrior’s Sons were once again in the world.

  Not wishing to dampen her spirit with the memories of her time in King’s Landing, or with the Lannisters, Sansa was only too glad when Septon Justin interrupted her conversation with Septon Brent, and she quickly excused herself, slipping outside the Old Mint with her faithful yet silent protector Donnel following close at her heels.

  They made their way to the back yard, hearing at once the shouts and commotion that were happening as Osha tried to train many of the orphan boys along with Rickon on the best ways to stand when holding a sword.

  Many children around Rickon’s own age had gathered around him and the wildling woman, holding wooden sticks and fallen branches of several sizes in their hands as they tried to pay rapt attention to Osha’s instructions. Besides their party, there was a donkey for heavy load, packs of food and goods standing nearby, and three soldiers were cutting lumber. Ser Marlon Manderly, Wyn and Wylla’s uncle, had made it clear to the barracks that they were to send ten men to the Old Mint to help in any way they could during each day.

  Sansa waved at Rickon as he showed a bruise on his elbow to a older boy, only to realize a moment later that the older boy was no other than Wex, the mute ironborn boy who had been the one to follow Osha and Rickon all the way from Winterfell to the eastern cost of the north, before the latter fled to Skagos. Sansa waved at the mute boy as well after he bowed his head in her direction, and she then made her way to where Wylla was sitting on a bench at a corner of the yard, stitching clothes from a basket. Donnel’s brothers were also present, Sansa was relieved to se. Domeric was keeping his eyes on Rickon, while Damon stood behind Wylla.

  “Where have you been?” Wylla called out to her by way of greeting as Sansa sat down beside her.

  “I just escaped Septon Brent,” Sansa confessed, and she proceeded to tell Wylla everything that had just happened with the holy man.

  “Poor thing!” Wylla exclaimed, patting Sansa’s hand. “He shouldn’t have mentioned that unfortunate incident. I still can’t believe we fell asleep during his reading last week.”

  Sansa was ready to blush all over again at the memory, but she just giggled and shook her head in resignation, hoping dearly that the Seven would not hold their behaviour against them. Her eyes then fell on her wild little brother as he ran and laughed around the yard, and a big wide smile appeared on Sansa’s face at that. It had been too long since she saw Rickon laugh so much, and spending his days here at the Old Mint were proving to help him just as much s they did with her.

  For though Rickon no longer had Shaggydog for company, he was at long last spending time with boys and girls his own age, playing and laughing and running, the way Sansa remembered seeing Robb and Jon and Theon doing.

  _I guess Osha could take the place of Ser Rodrik here then_ , Sansa gathered, and before she knew it a laugh had escaped her.

  Wylla looked quickly at her at that, and smiling commented, “It’s good to hear you laugh again like that, Sansa.”

  Sansa knew what her friend meant. Ever since Sandor had left White Harbour, she hadn’t been laughing as much as she was used to. Fisting a corner of her skirts, she returned Wylla’s knowing smile before shrugging silently, trying to keep her mind from straying down the path that her mind was dangerously trying to start to brood upon.

  “You know,” Wylla said suddenly, with a careless gaiety that Sansa envied. “I was just thinking moments before you appeared and joined me that it would be wise of you, Wyn and I to ask Osha if she would willing to teach us a little about the best way to defend ourselves should the need ever arise.”

  _That_ caught Sansa’s attention.

  “Do you mean it, Wylla?” she asked, turning around to look at Osha, her eyebrows raised.

  “Yes of course! I- well, I suppose it would be prudent to learn that, and if Osha doesn’t mind… I’m sure that as a spearwife she is one of the toughest women in the north, and has a lot of scars well earned. Who better to teach us than her? All the men have gone away.”

  “If Osha doesn’t mind it, I’m sure we could all end up learning much from her.”

  “I already started learning from her. She has the most interesting stories from beyond the Wall. Sometimes I fear that I bore her with so many questions, but I just can’t help myself. If she accepts, I think Uncle Marlon would certainly approve of this.”

  Sansa nodded, recalling the afternoon long ago when her big man had shown her the best places where she could stab someone, and pointed out with a smile, “Sandor would as well. He would be surprised but more than pleased, I dare say. The poor man tried showing me how to use a dagger for over a year, but it was never really something that interested me enough to practice constantly.

  I- I remember the first time he taught me. It was while we were in the Kingswood, shortly after we had escaped the capital, and I was so scared and unsure of what I was doing that I kept on trembling and dropping the blade…”

  She must have fallen silent after that, for the next thing she knew Wylla was reaching out to give her hand a squeeze, but Sansa didn’t even feel it. It was too late now. She had allowed herself to remember Sandor for longer than she should’ve during the day, and now there was nothing else for her to do but let her emotions overcome her.

  With a sniff, Sansa tried to smile bravely at her friend as she retuned her gaze to Wylla, who opened her mouth as if she were about to say something. She never got the chance to do so though, for a heartbeat later a little girl came running out of the Old Mint to tell Wylla that Septon Justin needed her.

  Wylla groaned and stood up reluctantly, ready to follow the girl, but not before she turned to look at Sansa and said, “We’ll make them proud, Sansa. When Sandor and Grandfather and the rest return, we’ll surprise them by showing them how much we’ve practiced.”

  Sansa nodded, unable to express how much she hoped that would indeed be the case, before Wylla winked at her and walked away. Left alone to her thoughts, Sansa stared for some moments at her brother and the older children still gathered around Osha, before she abruptly stood up from the bench, feeling the urge to be alone.

  That wouldn’t be completely possible though, since in the blink of an eye Donnel was by her side, inquiring solemnly, “My lady?”

  “I- I think I want to go look at the sea now,” Sansa informed her guard. “But would you stay here? I want to be alone.”

  Her words made Donnel uncomfortable at once. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, and said uncertainly, “Lady Stark, I- it wouldn’t be wise to-”

  “All right,” Sansa interrupted softly, knowing there would be little use in arguing. “Come then.”

  She began to walk away from the training yard with Donnel close behind her, towards the pebbled path between the white washed stables and the small groove of trees that led to the flight of wooden steps that had been erected over the small steep slope behind the Old Mint.

  Halfway through the wooden stairs Sansa began to feel a little tired, the now familiar feeling of having her lungs squished due to her corset appearing, and though she didn’t say anything about it, Donnel must have noticed her difficulty in breathing, for the next thing she knew he had taken her by the elbow, silently asking her to allow him to support her.

  Sansa mumbled, “Thank you,” and side by side her guard and her made their way to the top of the slope. Once they had reached it Sansa sighed, taking in the simple beauty of this place. The snow covered slope stood in the middle of the loud busy city, yet Sansa always managed to feel at peace in this place. Her eyes took in the sight of the many narrow winding streets of White Harbour below her as the sails of the old windmill that stood on the other side of the slope began to creak noisily.

  Donnel escorted her to the richly carved archway that had been erected long ago on the slope, and carefully helped her sit down on its pedestal, before he told her he would give her some privacy and go stand guard a short distance away.

  She thanked him again as she leaned back against the tall wide column behind her, finding a measure of relative comfort for her aching back at once. Sansa tilted her neck backwards, glad for the shade that the big tree to her right offered, and stared up at the old rusted bell that was hanging from a peg in the middle of the archway. She closed her eyes for a moment, gaining back her strength as she sat in this quiet corner of the world, and when she finally opened her eyes again, Sansa fixed her gaze on the horizon, staring at the distant harbour to her left, not really _seeing_ anything or taking in the beauty of the sight before her, for her thoughts kept her from concentrating on anything that was not Sandor.

  During the day Sansa had found that she could keep her mind from brooding about him by keeping herself busy with her tasks at the Old Mint, yet there were moments most days- just like right now- when the overwhelming feelings of loss and loneliness and longing unexpectedly overcame her, and Sansa had to flee to quiet places where she could give herself to her feelings and the memories of her husband without having someone from the Old Mint noticing her pain.

_I wish Sandor rather than winter was here_ , she sighed for the hundredth time this week, wondering what her big man was doing in this very moment, and where he was. The first days after her husband’s departure had been hard for Sansa. She had felt desolate, and had silently cried herself to sleep for three nights. That had stopped after the night when she had accidentally woken Rickon up though.

  Since she was now sharing a bedroom with her little brother, she shouldn’t have been so surprised that he had heard her in the end, yet when he had silently crawled into her bed and put his arms around her, trying to give her as much comfort as any boy his age could manage, Sansa had realized that having Rickon see her like that could not do him any good.

  _I can’t let my grief get the better of me when it’s only been a few weeks since Sandor left me_ , she had told herself. _This is just the start, and even if the old gods and the new are good and heed my prayers, it may still be months before a raven from Sandor even reaches me_.

  If Sansa was honest with herself, at first the main reason behind her agreeing to come daily to the Old Mint and help the people out had not only been to keep herself from succumbing to restlessness, but also because Sansa needed to distract herself from the ache she felt at not having Sandor beside her. Of not being able to talk to him as he held her hand in his calloused one, or having the rough rasp of his voice be the last thing she heard at night and the first sound she heard in the mornings; or kiss his half scarred lips, and running her hands and lips over his burned face and body all the while taking in his strong male scent, and of so much else.

  Sansa turned her gaze to the unclouded sky when she felt the faint breeze of the evening on her face, and she unconsciously raised her fingertips to her lips, brushing them softly as she remembered the way Sandor liked to do this very same gesture to her.

  The little things that one usually overlooked in the moments you were with the person that you cared about so much were painful for Sansa to recall these days. Things like being called “little bird” or the way Sandor’s warm breath would feel like against the back of her neck in the mornings when she woke up in his arms. Sansa even missed sharing a cup of wine with her big man at night as they told each other how their day had turned out, or seeing the proud and approving light in his dark grey eyes as she showed him how she looked wearing a new gown.

  She had recalled everything they had lived together since they had first met again and again during the weeks since Sandor’s departure in an attempt to tell her tortured heart that it could go on beating even if the man she loved had gone away, and surprisingly, Sansa had found out that with time that life _did_ get easier after a while of getting used to this new way of living.

  Over the weeks her old vigour had returned to the point where every day she could hold her head high and come down to the Old Mint with a ready heart and a brave face, but nights were still a different matter, for it had happened more than once lately that Sansa would be resting on her bed after a long day at the shelter, when all of a sudden her baby would start moving inside of her.

  The first time Sansa had woken from her sleep due to her child, she had smiled excitedly, and had even turned around to reach out for Sandor, only to recall a moment later that he was not sleeping beside her. Sansa hadn’t been able to go back to sleep at once, preferring to lay back down and silently relish and reflect on what was happening in her tummy where it felt as if butterflies were strongly fluttering around.

  It had taken a long time for her sleep to claim her back, but Sansa had spent that night between uselessly bidding the time she had spent with her big man to return, and imagining what lay ahead for Sandor and her and their child once the war and the long winter were but a memory, and they were back in Winterfell.

  Sansa was used to waking up in the middle of the night by her child by now, since the baby seemed to prefer to move around whenever she was resting, and Sansa had to remind herself to get used to the lack of sleep, since when her little boy or girl was finally with her, it was probably going to go on waking her, only this time with its cries.

  She always giggled when she gathered that at least she would have practice with this custom of waking up in the middle of the night because of the babe, but her big man, if he was here by the time she had given birth, would probably snarl and grumble that the wailing of the child was just as bloody annoying as being woken up by the bells of Norvos had been.

  A healing woman had told Sansa that babies were lulled to sleep by the constant movement mothers made during the day, and Sansa could only suppose she was right, because during the day she rarely felt the child or the fluttering feeling.

  Carrying a child without her husband beside her wasn’t easy, and being unable to share with him the joy and nerves and excitement that the prospect of having a baby made one feel what she had dreamed of as a girl made it worse, but at least Sansa wasn’t completely alone, since Wylla and Wyn and Osha and many other women, both from the New Castle and the Old Mint, were always asking her how she and the child were doing, offering their assistance whenever Sansa required it.

  Even little Rickon had shown he was interested and aware that there was a little person growing inside his sister’s tummy, since he always wanted Sansa to tell him when she felt the baby moving, and after she gave him an encouraging nod he would place a hand on her belly, only to retrieve it quickly, looking at her with wide awed eyes.

  The ghost of a smile appeared on Sansa’s face as she remembered that, and she placed her hand on her tummy, staring at the far away mountains in the distance as she sat below the archway on the slope beside the Old Mint in White Harbour.

  “I told your father to come back to us soon,” Sansa whispered to her baby, recalling her and Sandor’s parting words as a tear slid down her cheek. “We may have to wait a while, but at least we have each other while we wait for him, and we will keep each other company in the meantime.”

  She sniffed and went on looking at the horizon for some moments, only to be interrupted when she heard heavy footsteps behind her, and saw a shadow fall across her face. Sansa turned her head around to find Donnel standing beside her, looming over her like a cliff.

  He looked down at her as he said hesitantly, “My lady, I- it’s getting late. We should probably get back to the Old Mint.”

  Donnel’s eyes lingered on her face, and Sansa almost shied away from his gaze, not wishing to let her guard see the tears that were about to fall from her eyes, before Sansa realized that something in the man’s voice gave away that he was concerned for her welfare. That made her give him a small smile, and she nodded in agreement and took his hand when he helped her once again get to her feet.

  This time she didn’t refuse him when her guard offered her his arm, and as they made their way down the wooden steps on the steep slope, Sansa realized that she was grateful for the man’s quiet discreet presence after Donnel didn’t remark anything regarding the tears she had wiped away from her eyes. Her new sworn shield didn’t make her laugh as Hagen Edar could, and Donnel was certainly not Sandor in any way, but at least he was here to keep her from being alone in moments such as the one Sansa had just had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovely readers, I hope I didn’t make it too painful to you all with this first chapter of Sandor and Sansa’s separation. Thank you for reading and for letting reviews and all. It means a lot, and your encouragements is fuel for the muse (:  
> \- Next week it’ll be a year since I first posted the first two chapters of the fic. It’s been a great journey so far, (one which I am honoured to have been sharing with you all), and I had no idea the story would turn out to be this long or take many of the turns it did in the past back when I first started coming up with the initial plot back in November 2011. Whenever I imagine myself in the future looking back to my first year of college, I smile at the knowledge that I managed to write such a long story at the same time. It makes it memorable, and hopefully helped me improve as a writer a bit.  
>  The reason why I’m saying all of these this Sunday rather than next one is because I’m going to the beach in a couple of days for a week, so I won’t again be able to post next Sunday. Sorry for this when I told you all a little while back that it wouldn’t happen again (I shouldn’t have said that during the summer holidays!). In two weeks though I will be posting chapter 54, so I must thank you for understanding and for your patience once again. At least I will be able in this trip to have internet connection, and won’t be away from the fandom (:  
> \- Also, I guess it’s as good a time as any to let you all know that I’m hoping on having this fic end when I reach chapter 63. The plan is 60 chapters for the story & 3 epilogues that will deal with matters which I can’t yet reveal ;)  
>  & now, sorry for rambling on so much. Thanks once again for your time and for reading!!   
> Love,  
> Caroh99


	54. UPDATE

  Hello everyone! :D I just got back from my holiday (Thank you all SO much for your latest reviews, congratulations on the 1 year anniversary of the fic, and for wishing me good luck at the beach- it was great!).

  I don’t know how to say this- especially after reading all your praise about how diligent I was with the weekly updates, and with your words about what you hope is happening to Sandor as he marches to Winterfell and war, as well as to the last remaining chapters of the story- and I’m really **_really_** sorry for it, but I’m afraid I won’t be updating chapter 54 tonight.

  This is mainly happening for 3 reasons. I was away and couldn’t write much at the beach; the muse refused to return home with me; and due to some stuff happening in RL. I promise though that as soon as I can I will update the next chapter. I don’t know when that will be, but hopefully I won’t have to keep you all waiting for too long.

  Sorry my dear faithful readers. This is hard to write because I hate to disappoint you. All I can do is thank you for your current patience and please ask you to wait for a bit more. I promise you all I am not deserting the fic (which would be pretty frustrating when I’m so close to finishing it with only like 10 more chapters left to write). But I do need just some days to settle back and write ahead what’s coming, before I can share it with you all.

  I hope everyone is doing great. I’ve missed you all, and I both apologize for keeping you waiting, but thank you as well for understanding. Have a wonderful week and rest of the summer! (:


	55. Link to the fic´s "film"

Greetings my lovely patient readers,

First of all, I hope you are all doing well! This is not an update to my fic, but another sort of surprise for you. My writer´s block is still keeping me from continuing the story, among others things… but I still love Sansa/Sandor as much as I used to, and think of them often.

That´s why I´ve done a sort of “movie adaptation” of my fanfic, and I want to share it with you all, because it was made for you! If you ship this pairing, and if you´ve liked my story, then I hope you enjoy this little tribute I made with love! 

I should warn you though that it only covers up until Sansa and Sandor leave Essos, so there really aren´t any spoilers in it. And the video is also a bit long (1 hour!), but this is a long fic, so I wanted to include as much as I could :)

Some things are included, others changed, invented, or left out… regardless, here is the link to the final product. I´m sorry if the editing is bad- I´m quite new at it!

Finally, I want to thank everyone for their patience over the years of waiting I´ve made you go through. And also a special thanks to all the awesome betas who helped out for over a year with the fic.

Let me know what you think please!  
Love you all and many hugs!

\- Youtube link: www.youtube.com/watch?v=lEBTJPk8LDA

\- Link on Dailymotion Part 1: www.dailymotion.com/video/x408ymk

\- Link on Dailymotion Part 2: www.dailymotion.com/video/x408z4w

*Warning: If you want to avoid seeing some of the things that inspired certain plot lines (the kiss, or Arman Nervere, the city of Norvos, among other things), then don´t watch it ;)

*I apologize beforehand if you can´t see it, but it´s been blocked in some places due to copyrights and in some devices :(


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